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This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEK 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIV 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  was  taken  out  c 
the  day  indicated  below: 


&y^ 


\^C^e^ek^     //J 


"As  there  was  nobody  to  see,  he  just  sat  down  and  cried  as  hard  as  Dotty 
herself." 

The  above  picture  is  one  of  twenty-seven  which  illustrate 

THE   NEW-YEAR'S   BARGAIN. 

By  Susan  Coolidge. 

The  author  of  this  book  must  soon  be  exalted  in  the  hearts  of  children  by 
the  side  of  Miss  Alcott :  for  it  is  as  original,  as  quaint,  and  as  charming  as 
any  thing  of  "  Aunt  Jo's,"  though  totally  different  in  character  and  style. 
Max  and  Thekla,  the  hero  and  heroine,  live  in  the  famous  Black  Forest. 
Wandering  in  the  woods  one  day,  they  came  across  an  old  man  who  was 
making  some  images.  This  old  man  was  Father  Time,  and  the  images  were 
the  twelve  months.  He  had  a  jar  full  of  sand,  —  the  "  sands  of  time,"  — and 
Max  put  some  of  it  in  his  pocket,  when  old  Father  Time  wasn't  looking,  and 
carried  it  home. 

This  stealing  from  Time  caused  a  great  corHmotion,  though  Max  con- 
tended that  "  Time  belongs  to  us  all ;  "  but  it  resulted  in  a  "  Bargain,"  which 
the  book  will  tell  you  all  about. 

"  The  New- Year's  Bargain  "  is  an  elegant  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  gilt 
and  black-lettered,  and  sells  for  SF2  00. 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers,  Boston. 


!2S 

w       ^ 

3       tea 

S     5 

B   B 
s    w 

■ 

© 
O 

w 

Eight  o'clock ; 

The  postman's  knock ! 

Five  letters  for  Papa ; 

One  for  Lou, 

And  none  for  you, 
And  three  for  dear  Mamma. 

SING-SONG.  A  Book  of  Original  New  Nursery  Khymes,  by  Miss  Rossetti, 
contains  one  hundred  and  twenty  songs,  and  an  illustration  to  each  song 
by  Arthur  Hughes.  One  elegant  square  8vo,  bound  in  cloth,  black 
and  gilt  lettered.    Price,  $2.00. 

POSIES  FOR  CHILDREN-  A  Book  of  Verse,  selected  by  Mrs.  Anna  C. 
Lowell.    Square  16mo.    Price,  75  cents. 

MAX  AND  MAURICE,  A  Youthful  History,  translated  by  Rey.  Charles 
T.  Brooks,  is  one  of  the  drollest  works  ever  made.  It  is  immensely- 
popular  with  young  and  old.    Fully  illustrated.     Price,  $1.25. 

PUCK'S  NIGHTLY  PRANKS.  Illustrated  with  Silhouette  Pictures, 
by  Paul  Konewka.    Fancy  covers.    Price,  50  cents. 

ROBOTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

Boston. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/auntjosscrapbag01alco 


'  Sing,  Tessa  ;  sing  !  "  cried  Tommo,  twanging  away  with  all  his  might.  —  Page  47. 


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'The  memory  of  those  thirteen  pink  tails  has  haunted  me  ever  since." — Page  q. 


Aunt  Jo's  Scrap-Bag. 


MY   BOYS,  Etc. 


By  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT, 

AUTHOR  OP    "LITTLE  WOMEN,"    "AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GIBL,"    "LITTLE  MEN,' 
"HOSPITAL  SKETCHES." 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

LOUISA    M.    ALCOTT, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


CAMBRIDGE : 
PRESS  OF  JOHN  WILSON  AND    SON. 


PREFACE. 


A  S  grandmothers  rummage  their  piece-bags 
and  bundles  in  search  of  gay  odds  and 
ends  to  make  gifts  with  which  to  fill  the  little 
stockings  that  hang  all  in  a  row  on  Christmas 
Eve,  so  I  have  gathered  together  some  stories, 
old  and  new,  to  amuse  the  large  family  that  has 
so  rapidly  and  beautifully  grown  up  about  me. 

I  hope  that  when  they  promenade  in  night- 
caps and  gowns  to  rifle  the  plump  stockings, 
the  little  "  dears  "  will  utter  an  "  Oh  !  "  of  pleas- 
ure, and  give  a  prance  of  satisfaction,  as  they 
pull  out  this  small  gift  from  Aunt  Jo's  scrap- 
bag. 


Cheistmas  Holidays, 
<^  1871-72. 

1* 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

My  Boys .    .    .  1 

Tessa's  Surprises 35 

Buzz 58 

The  Children's  Joke 67 

Dandelion 91 

Madam  Cluck,  and  her  Family 100 

A  Curious  Call Ill 

Tilly's  Christmas    .    .     • 123 

My  Little  Gentleman 134 

Back  Windows 148 

Little  Marte  of  Lehon 158 

My  May-day  among  Curious  Birds  and  Beasts  176 

Our  Little  Newsboy 186 

Patty's  Patchwork 193 


MISS  LOUISA  M.  ALOOTT'S 

RECENT    NEW    WORKS. 


LITTLE  WOMEN.    Part  First. 
LITTLE  WOMEN.    Part  Second. 
AN  OLD-FASHIONED   GIRL. 
LITTLE  MEN. 

HOSPITAL   SKETCHES  AND    CAMP   AND    FIRE 
SIDE  STOKLES. 


"It  is  quite  safe  to  say  that  the  author  of  "  Little  Women  "  is,  to- 
day, the  literary  idol  pf  the  American  fireside.  Within  three  years 
her  hooks  have  achieved  an  unparalleled  success,  delighting  and  in- 
structing legions  of  readers. 

g^  All  of  Miss  AlcoWs  eecent  new  wobks  without  excep- 
tion, have  our  name  on  their  title-pages  as  her  authorized  publishers. 

They  are  now  bound  in  a  new  style  of  binding,  to  distinguish 
them  from  imitations,  and  may  be  had,  put  up  in  a  neat  box,  labelled 
"  Little  Women  Library,"  the  five  volumes,  price,  $7.50;  or,  separ- 
ately, $1.50  each. 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

Boston. 


AOTT  JO'S   SCKAP-BAG. 


MY   BOYS. 

"CREELING  that  I  have  been  unusually  fortunate 
in  my  knowledge  of  a  choice  and  pleasing 
variety  of  this  least  appreciated  portion  of  the  human 
race,  I  have  a  fancy  to  record  some  of  my  experi- 
ences, hoping  that  it  may  awaken  an  interest  in 
other  minds,  and  cause  other  people  to  cultivate  the 
delightful,  but  too  often  neglected  boys,  who  now 
run  to  waste,  so  to  speak. 

I  have  often  wondered  what  they  thought  of  the 
peculiar  treatment  they  receive,  even  at  the  hands 
of  their  nearest  friends.  While  they  are  rosy,  roly- 
poly  little  fellows  they  are  petted  and  praised, 
adorned  and  adored,  till  it  is  a  miracle  that  they  are 
not  utterly  ruined.  But  the  moment  they  outgrow 
their  babyhood  their  trials  begin,  and  they  are  re- 


2  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

garded  as  nuisances  till  they  are  twenty-one,  when 
they  are  again  received  into  favor. 

Yet  that  very  time  of  neglect  is  the  period  when 
they  most  need  all  manner  of  helps,  and  ought  to  have 
them.  I  like  boys  and  oysters  raw ;  so,  though  good 
manners  are  always  pleasing,  I  don't  mind  the  rough 
outside  burr  which  repels  most  people,  and  perhaps 
that  is  the  reason  why  the  burrs  open  and  let  me  see 
the  soft  lining  and  taste  the  sweet  nut  hidden  inside. 

My  first  well-beloved  boy  was  a  certain  Frank,  to 
whom  I  clung  at  the  age  of  seven  with  a  devotion 
which  I  fear  he  did  not  appreciate.  There  were  six 
girls  in  the  house,  but  I  would  have  nothing  to  say 
to  them,  preferring  to  tag  after  Frank,  and  perfectly 
happy  when  he  allowed  me  to  play  with  him.  I 
regret  to  say  that  the  small  youth  was  something 
of  a  tyrant,  and  one  of  his  favorite  amusements  was 
trying  to  make  me  cry  by  slapping  my  hands  with 
books,  hoop-sticks,  shoes,  any  thing  that  came  along 
capable  of  giving  a  good  stinging  blow.  I  believe  I 
endured  these  marks  of  friendship  with  the  fortitude 
of  a  young  Indian,  and  felt  fully  repaid  for  a  blistered 


MY  BOYS.  3 

palm  by  hearing  Frank  tell  the  other  boys  "  She  *s  a 
brave  little  thing,  and  you  can't  make  her  cry." 

My  chief  joy  was  in  romping  with  him  in  the  long 
galleries  of  a  piano  manufactory  behind  our  house. 
What  bliss  it  was  to  mount  one  of  the  cars  on  which 
the  workmen  rolled  heavy  loads  from  room  to  room, 
and  to  go  thundering  down  the  inclined  planes,  re- 
gardless of  the  crash  that  usually  awaited  us  at  the 
bottom!  If  I  could  have  played  foot-ball  on  the 
Common  with  my  Frank  and  Billy  Babcock,  life 
could  have  offered  me  no  greater  joy  at  that  period. 
As  the  prejudices  of  society  forbid  this  sport,  I 
revenged  myself  by  driving  hoop  all  around  the  mall 
without  stopping,  which  the  boys  could  not  do. 

I  can  remember  certain  happy  evenings,  when  we 
snuggled  in  sofa  corners  and  planned  tricks  and  ate 
stolen  goodies,  and  sometimes  Frank  would  put  his 
curly  head  in  my  lap  and  let  me  stroke  it  when  he 
was  tired.  What  the  girls  did  I  don't  recollect; 
their  domestic  plays  were  not  to  my  taste,  and  the 
only  figure  that  stands  out  from  the  dimness  of  the 
past  is  that  jolly  boy  with  a  twinkling  eye.     This 


4  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

memory  would  be  quite  radiant  but  for  one  sad 
thing,  —  a  deed  that  cut  me  to  the  soul  then,  and 
which  I  have  never  quite  forgiven  in  all  these  years. 

On  one  occasion  I  did  something  very  naughty, 
and  when  called  up  for  judgment  fled  to  the  dining- 
room,  locked  the  door,  and  from  my  stronghold 
defied  the  whole  world.  I  could  have  made  my  own 
terms,  for  it  was  near  dinner-time  and  the  family 
must  eat ;  but,  alas,  for  the  treachery  of  the  human 
heart !  Frank  betrayed  me.  He  climbed  in  at  the 
window,  unlocked  the  door,  and  delivered  me  up  to 
the  foe.  Nay,  he  even  defended  the  base  act,  and 
helped  bear  the  struggling  culprit  to  imprisonment. 
That  nearly  broke  my  heart,  for  I  believed  he  would 
stand  by  me  as  staunchly  as  I  always  stood  by  him. 
It  was  a  sad  blow,  and  I  couldn't  love  or  trust  him 
any  more.  Peanuts  and  candy,  ginger-snaps  and 
car-rides  were  unavailing;  even  foot-ball  could  not 
reunite  the  broken  friendship,  and  to  this  day  I 
recollect  the  pang  that  entered  my  little  heart  when 
I  lost  my  faith  in  the  loyalty  of 'my  first  boy. 

The  second  attachment  was  of  quite  a  different 


MY  BOYS.  5 

sort,  and  had  a  happier  ending.  At  the  mature  age 
often,  I  left  home  for  my  first  visit  to  a  family  of  gay 
and  kindly  people  in  —  well,  why  not  say  right 
out  ?  —  Providence.  There  were  no  children,  and  at 
first  I  did  not  mind  this,  as  every  one  petted  me, 
especially  one  of  the  young  men  named  Christopher. 
So  kind  and  patient,  yet  so  merry  was  this  good 
Christy  that  I  took  him  for  my  private  and  partic- 
ular boy,  and  loved  him  dearly,  for  he  got  me  out 
of  innumerable  scrapes,  and  never  was  tired  of 
amusing  the  restless  little  girl  who  kept  the  family 
in  a  fever  of  anxiety  by  her  pranks.  He  never 
laughed  at  her  mishaps  and  mistakes,  never  played 
tricks  upon  her  like  a  certain  William  who  composed 
the  most  trying  nicknames,  and  wickedly  goaded  the 
wild  visitor  into  all  manner  of  naughtiness.  Christy 
stood  up  for  her  through  every  thing ;  let  her  ride 
the  cows,  feed  the  pigs,  bang  on  the  piano,  and  race 
all  over  the  spice  mill,  feasting  on  cinnamon  and 
cloves;  brought  her  down  from  housetops  and  fished 
her  out  of  brooks ;  never  scolded,  and  never  seemed 
tired  of  the  troublesome  friendship  of  little  Tor- 
ment. 


6  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

In  a  week  I  had  exhausted  every  amusement  and 
was  desperately  homesick.  It  has  always  been  my 
opinion  that  I  should  have  been  speedily  restored 
to  the  bosom  of  my  family  but  for  Christy,  and  but 
for  him  I  should  assuredly  have  ran  away  before 
the  second  week  was  out.  He  kept  me,  and  in  the 
hour  of  my  disgrace  stood  by  me  like  a  man  and 
a  brother. 

One  afternoon,  inspired  by  a  spirit  of  benevolence, 
enthusiastic  but  short-sighted,  I  collected  several 
poor  children  in  the  barn  and  regaled  them  on  cake 
and  figs,  helping  myself  freely  to  the  treasures  of 
the  pantry  without  asking  leave,  meaning  to  explain 
afterward.  Being  discovered  before  the  supplies 
were  entirely  exhausted,  the  patience  of  the  long- 
suffering  matron  gave  out,  and  I  was  ordered  up  to 
the  garret  to  reflect  upon  my  sins,  and  the  pleasing 
prospect  of  being  sent  home  with  the  character  of 
the  worst  child  ever  known. 

My  sufferings  were  deep  as  I  sat  upon  a  fuzzy 
little  trunk  all  alone  in  the  dull  garret,  thinking  how 
hard  it  was  to  do  right,  and  wondering  why  I  was 


MY  BOYS.  T 

scolded  for  feeding  the  poor  when  we  were  expressly 
bidden  to  do  so.  I  felt  myself  an  outcast,  and  be- 
wailed the  disgrace  I  had  brought  upon  my  family. 
Nobody  could  possibly  love  such  a  bad  child ;  and 
if  the  mice  were  to  come  and  eat  me  then  and  there, 
—  a  la  Bishop  Hatto,  —  it  would  only  be  a  relief  to 
my  friends.  At  this  dark  moment  I  heard  Christy 
say  below,  "  She  meant  it  kindly,  so  I  wouldn't 
mind,  Fanny ; "  and  then  up  came  my  boy  full  of 
sympathy  and  comfort.  Seeing  the  tragic  expression 
of  my  face,  he  said  not  a  word,  but,  sitting  down  in 
an  old  chair,  took  me  on  his  knee  and  held  me  close 
and  quietly,  letting  the  action  speak  for  itself.  It 
did  most  eloquently;  for  the  kind  arm  seemed  to- 
take  me  back  from  that  dreadful  exile,  and  the 
friendly  face  to  assure  me  without  words  that  I  had 
not  sinned  beyond  forgiveness. 

I  had  not  shed  a  tear  before,  but  now  I  cried 
tempestuously,  and  clung  to  him  like  a  shipwrecked 
little  mariner  in  a  storm.  Neither  spoke,  but  he 
held  me  fast  and  let  me  cry  myself  to  sleep ;  for, 
when  the  shower  was  over,  a  pensive  peace  fell  upon 


8  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

me,  and  the  dim  old  garret  seemed  not  a  prison,  but 
a  haven  of  refuge,  since  my  hoy  came  to  share  it 
with  me.  How  long  I  slept  I  don't  know,  but  it 
must  have  been  an  hour,  at  least;  yet  my  good 
Christy  never  stirred,  only  waited  patiently  till  I 
woke  up  in  the  twilight  and  was  not  afraid  because 
he  was  there.  He  took  me  down  as  meek  as  a 
mouse,  and  kept  me  by  him  all  that  trying  evening, 
screening  me  from  jokes,  rebukes,  and  sober  looks ; 
and  when  I  went  to  bed  he  came  up  to  kiss  me,  and 
to  assure  me  that  this  awful  circumstance  should 
not  be  reported  at  home.  This  took  a  load  off  my 
heart,  and  I  remember  fervently  thanking  him,  and 
telling  him  I  never  would  forget  it. 

I  never  have,  though  he  died  long  ago,  and  others 
have  probably  forgotten  all  about  the  naughty  prank. 
I  often  longed  to  ask  him  how  he  knew  the  surest 
way  to  win  a  child's  heart  by  the  patience,  sympa- 
thy, and  tender  little  acts  that  have  kept  his  memory 
green  for  nearly  thirty  years. 

Cy  was  a  comrade  after  my  own  heart,  and  for  a 
summer  or  two  we  kept  the  neighborhood  in  a  fer- 


MY  BOYS.  9 

ment  by  our  adventures  and  hair-breadth  escapes. 
I  think  I  never  knew  a  boy  so  full  of  mischief,  and 
my  opportunities  of  judging  have  been  manifold. 
He  did  not  get  into  scrapes  himself,  but  possessed  a 
splendid  talent  for  deluding  others  into  them,  and 
then  morally  remarking,  "  There,  I  told  you  so !  " 
His  way  of  saying  "  You  dars'nt  do  this  or  that," 
was  like  fire  to  powder ;  and  why  I  still  live  in  the 
possession  of  all  my  limbs  and  senses  is  a  miracle  to 
those  who  know  my  youthful  friendship  with  Cy. 
It  was  he  who  incited  me  to  jump  off  of  the  highest 
beam  in  the  barn  to  be  borne  home  on  a  board  with 
a  pair  of  sprained  ankles.  It  was  he  who  dared  me 
to  rub  my  eyes  with  red  peppers,  and  then  sympa- 
thizingly  led  me  home  blind  and  roaring  with  pain. 
It  was  he  who  solemnly  assured  me  that  all  the  little 
pigs  would  die  in  agony  if  their  tails  were  not  cut 
off,  and  won  me  to  hold  thirteen  little  squealers 
while  the  operation  was  performed.  Those  thirteen 
innocent  pink  tails  haunt  me  yet,  and  the  memory 
of  that  deed  has  given  me  a  truly  Jewish  aversion 
to  pork. 


10  .  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

I  did  not  know  him  long,  but  he  was  a  kindred 
soul,  and  must  have  a  place  in  my  list,  of  boys.  He 
is  a  big,  brown  man  now,  and  having  done  his  part 
in  the  war,  is  at  work  on  his  farm.  We  meet  some- 
times, and  though  we  try  to  be  dignified  and  proper, 
it  is  quite  impossible  ;  there  is  a  sly  twinkle  in  Cy's 
eye  that  upsets  my  gravity,  and  we  always  burst  out 
laughing  at  the  memory  of  our  early  frolics. 

My  Augustus !  oh,  my  Augustus !  my  first  little 
lover,  and  the  most  romantic  of  my  boys.  At 
fifteen  I  met  this  charming  youth,  and  thought  I  had 
found  my  fate.  It  was  at  a  spelling  school  in  a  little 
country  town  where  I,  as  a  stranger  and  visitor  from 
the  city,  was  an  object  of  interest.  Painfully  con- 
scious of  this  fact,  I  sat  in  a  corner  "trying  to'  look 
easy  and  elegant,  with  a  large  red  bow  under  my 
chin,  and  a  carnelian  ring  in  full  view.  Among  the 
boys  and  girls  who  frolicked  about  me,  I  saw  one 
lad  of  seventeen  with  "  large  blue  eyes,  a  noble 
brow,  and  a  beautiful  straight  nose,"  as  I  described 
him  in  a  letter  to  my  sistei\  This  attractive  youth 
had  a  certain  air  of  refinement  and  ease  of  manner 


MY  BOYS.  11 

that  the  others  lacked ;  and  when  I  found  he  was  the 
minister's  son,  I  felt  that  I  might  admire  him  without 
loss  of  dignity.  "  Imagine  my  sensations,"  as  Miss 
Burney's  Evelina  says,  when  this  boy  came  and  talked 
to  me,  a  little  bashfully  at  first,  but  soon  quite  freely, 
and  invited  me  to  a  huckleberry  party  next  day.  I 
had  observed  that  he  was  one  of  the  best  spellers. 
I  also  observed  that  his  language  was  quite  elegant ; 
he  even  quoted  Byron,  and  rolled  his  eyes  in  a  most 
engaging  manner,  not  to  mention  that  he  asked  who 
gave  me  my  ring,  and  said  he  depended  on  escorting 
me  to  the  berry  pasture. 

Dear  me,  how  interesting  it  was !  and  when  I  found 
myself,  next  day,  sitting  under  a  tree  in  the  sunny 
field  (full  of  boys  and  girls,  all  more  or  less  lover- 
ing),  with  the  amiable  Augustus  at  my  feet,  gallantly 
supplying  me  with  bushes  to  strip  while  we  talked 
about  books  and  poetry,  I  really  felt  as  if  I  had  got 
into  a  novel,  and  enjoyed  it  immensely.  I  believe  a 
dim  idea  that  Gus  was  sentimental  hovered  in  my 
mind,  but  I  would  not  encourage  it,  though  I  laughed 
in  my  sleeve  when  he  was  spouting  Latin  for  my 


12  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

benefit,  and  was  uncertain  whether  to  box  his  ears 
or  simper  later  in  the  clay,  when  he  languished  over 
the  gate,  and  said  he  thought  chestnut  hah-  the  love- 
liest in  the  world. 

Poor,  dear  boy!  how  innocent  and  soft-hearted  and 
full  of  splendid  dreams  he  was,  and  what  deliciously 
romantic  times  we  had  floating  on  the  pond,  while 
the  frogs  sung  to  his  accordion,  as  he  tried  to  say 
unutterable  things  with  his  honest  blue  eyes.  It 
makes  me  shiver  now  to  think  of  the  mosquitoes 
and  the  damp ;  but  it  was  Pauline  and  Claude  Mel- 
notte  then,  and  when  I  went  home  we  promised  to 
be  true  to  one  another,  and  write  every  week  during 
the  year  he  was  away  at  school. 

We  parted,  —  not  in  tears  by  any  means ;  that  sort 
of  nonsense  comes  later,  when  the  romance  is  less 
childish, — but  quite  jolly  and  comfortable,  and  I 
hastened  to  pour  forth  the  thrilling  tale  to  my  faith- 
ful sister,  who  aj^proved  of  the  match,  being  a  per- 
fect "  mush  of  sentiment "  herself. 

I  fear  it  was  not  a  very  ardent  flame,  however,  for 
Gus  did  not  write  every  week,  and  I  did  not  care  a 


MY  BOYS.  13 

bit ;  nevertheless,  I  kept  his  picture  and  gave  it  a 
sentimental  sigh  when  I  happened  to  think  of  it, 
while  he  sent  messages  now  and  then,  and  devoted 
himself  to  his  studies  like  an  ambitious  boy  as  he 
was.  I  hardly  expected  to  see  him  again,  but  soon 
after  the  year  was  out,  to  my  great  surprise  he 
called.  I  was  so  fluttered  by  the  appearance  of  his 
card  that  I  rather  lost  my  head,  and  did  such  a  silly 
thing  that  it  makes  me  laugh  even  now.  He  liked 
chestnut  hair,  and,  pulling  out  my  combs,  I  rushed 
down,  theatrically  dishevelled,  hoping  to  impress  my 
lover  with  my  ardor  and  my  charms. 

I  expected  to  find  little  Gus ;  but,  to  my  great  con- 
fusion, a  tall  being  with  a  beaver  in  his  hand  rose  to 
meet  me,  looking  so  big  and  handsome  and  generally 
imposing,  that  I  could  not  recover  myself  for  several 
minutes,  and  mentally  wailed  for  my  combs,  feeling 
like  an  untidy  simpleton. 

I  don't  know  whether  he  thought  me  a  little 
cracked  or  not,  but  he  was  very  friendly  and  pleas- 
ant, and  told  me  his  plans,  and  hoped  I  would  make 
another  visit,  and  smoothed  his  beaver,  and  let  me 


14  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

see  his  tail-coat,  and  behaved  himself  like  a  dear, 
conceited,  clever  boy.  He  did  not  allude  to  our 
love-passages,  being  shy,  and  I  blessed  him  for  it ; 
for  really,  I  don't  know  what  rash  thing  I  might  have 
done  under  the  exciting  circumstances.  Just  as  he 
was  going,  however,  he  forgot  his  cherished  hat  for 
a  minute,  put  out  both  hands,  and  said  heartily,  with 
his  old  boyish  laugh,  — 

"  Now  you  will  come,  and  we'll  go  boating  and 
berrying,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  again,  won't  we  ?  " 

The  blue  eyes  were  full  of  fun  and  feeling,  too,  I 
fancied,  as  I  blushingly  retired  behind  my  locks  and 
gave  the  promise.  But  I  never  went,  and  never  saw 
my  little  lover  any  more,  for  in  a  few  weeks  he  was 
dead  of  a  fever,  brought  on  by  too  much  study,  — 
and  so  ended  the  sad  history  of  my  fourth  boy. 

After  this,  for  many  years,  I  was  a  boyless  being ; 
but  was  so  busy  I  did  not  feel  my  destitute  condi- 
tion till  I  went  to  the  hospital  during  the  war, 
and  found  my  little  sergeant.  His  story  has  been 
told  elsewhere,  but  the  sequel  to  it  is  a  pleasant  one, 
for  Baby  B.  still  writes  to  me  now  and  then,  asks 


MY  BOYS.  15 

advice  about  his  future,  and  gladdens  me  with  good 
news  of  his  success  as  a  business  man  in  Kansas. 

As  if  to  atone  for  the  former  dearth,  a  sudden 
shower  of  most  superior  boys  fell  upon  me,  after  I 
recovered  from  my  campaign.  Some  of  the  very 
best  sort  it  was  my  fortune  to  know  and  like,  —  real 
gentlemen,  yet  boys  still,  —  and  jolly  times  they  had, 
stirring  up  the  quiet  old  town  with  their  energetic 
society. 

There  was  W.,  a  stout,  amiable  youth,  who  would 
stand  in  the  middle  of  a  strawberry  patch,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  let  us  feed  him  luxuri- 
ously. B.,  a  delightful  scapegrace,  who  came  once 
a  week  to  confess  his  sins,  beat  his  breast  in  despair, 
vow  awful  vows  of  repentance,  and  then  cheer- 
fully depart,  to  break  every  one  of  them  in  the  next 
twenty-four  hours.  S.  the  gentle-hearted  giant; 
J.  the  dandy;  sober,  sensible  B. ;  and  E.,  the  young 
knight  without  reproach  or  fear. 

But  my  especial  boy  of  the  batch  was  A.,  —  proud 
and  cold  and  shy  to  other  people,  sad  and  serious 
sometimes  when  his  good   heart   and  tender  con- 


16  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

science  showed  him  his  short-comings,  hut  so  grate- 
ful for  sympathy  and  a  kind  word. 

I  could  not  get  at  him  as  easily  as  I  could  the 
other  lads,  but,  thanks  to  Dickens,  I  found  him  out 
at  last. 

We  played  Dolphus  and  Sophy  Tetterby  in  the 
"  Haunted  Man,"  at  one  of  the  school  festivals ;  and 
during  the  rehearsals  I  discovered  that  my  Dolphus 
was  —  permit  the  expression,  oh,  well-bred  readers ! 
—  a  trump.  What  fun  we  had,  to  be  sure,  acting 
the  droll  and  pathetic  scenes  together,  with  a  swarm 
of  little  Tetterbys  skirmishing  about  us !  From  that 
time  he  has  been  my  Dolphus  and  I  his  Sophy,  and 
my  yellow-haired  laddie  don't  forget  me,  though  he 
has  a  younger  Sophy  now,  and  some  small  Tetter- 
bys of  his  own.  He  writes  just  the  same  affectionate 
letters  as  he  used  to  do,  though  I,  less  faithful,  am 
too  busy  to  answer  them. 

But  the  best  and  dearest  of  all  my  flock  was 
my  Polish  boy,  Ladislas  Wisniewski,  —  two  hic- 
coughs and  a  sneeze  will  give  you  the  name  per- 
fectly.    Six  years  ago,  as  I  went  down  to  my  early 


MY  BOYS.  17 

breakfast  at  our  Pension  in  Vevey,  I  saw  that  a 
stranger  had  arrived.  He  was  a  tall  youth,  of 
eighteen  or  twenty,  with  a  thin,  intelligent  face,  and 
the  charmingly  polite  manners  of  a  foreigner.  As 
the  other  boarders  came  in,  one  by  one,  they  left  the 
door  open,  and  a  draught  of  cold  autumn  air  blew  in 
from  the  stone  corridor,  making  the  new  comer 
cough,  shiver,  and  cast  wistful  glances  toward  the 
warm  corner  by  the  stove.  My  place  was  there, 
and  the  heat  often  oppressed  me,  so  I  was  glad  of  an 
opportunity  to  move. 

A  word  to  Madame  Vodoz  effected  the  change ; 
and  at  dinner  I  was  rewarded  by  a  grateful  smile 
from  the  poor  fellow,  as  he  nestled  into  his  warm 
seat,  after  a  pause  of  surprise  and  a  flush  of  pleasure 
at  the  small  kindness  from  a  stranger.    We  were 
too  far  apart  to  talk  much,  but,  as  he  filled  his  glass, 
the  Pole  bowed  to  me,  and  said  low  in  French,  — 
"  I  drink  the  good  health  to  Mademoiselle." 
I  returned  the  wish,  but  he  shook  his  head  with  a 
sudden  shadow  on  his  face,  as  if  the  words  meant 
more  than  mere  compliment  to  him. 
2 


18  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"That  boy  is  sick  and  needs  care.  I  must  see  to 
him,"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  met  him  in  the  afternoon, 
and  observed  the  military  look  of  his  blue  and  white 
suit,  as  he  touched  his  cap  and  smiled  pleasantly.  I 
have  a  weakness  for  brave  boys  in  blue,  and  having 
discovered  that  he  had  been  in  the  late  Polish  Revo- 
lution, my  heart  warmed  to  him  at  once. 

That  evening  he  came  to  me  in  the  salon,  and 
expressed  his  thanks  in  the  prettiest  broken  English 
I  ever  heard.  So  simple,  frank,  and  grateful  was  he 
that  a  few  words  of  interest  won  his  little  story  from 
him,  and  in  half  an  hour  we  were  friends.  With 
his  fellow-students  he  had  fought  through  the  last 
outbreak,  had  suffered  imj)risonment  and  hardship 
rather  than  submit,  had  lost  many  friends,  his  for- 
tune and  his  health,  and  /it  twenty,  lonely,  poor, 
and  ill,  was  trying  bravely  to  cure  the  malady  which 
seemed  fatal. 

"  If  I  recover  myself  of  this  affair  in  the  chest, 
I  teach  the  music  to  acquire  my  bread  in  this  so 
hospitable  country.  At  Paris,  my  friends,  all  two, 
find  a  refuge,  and  I  go  to  them  in  spring  if  I  die 


MY  BOYS.  19 

not  here.  Yes,  it  is  solitary,  and  my  memories  are 
not  gay,  but  I  have  my  work,  and  the  good  God 
remains  always  to  me,  so  I  content  myself  with 
much  hope,  and  I  wait." 

Such  genuine  piety  and  courage  increased  my 
respect  and  regard  immensely,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  he  added  to  both  by  one  of  the  little  acts  that 
show  character  better  than  words. 

He  told  me  about  the  massacre,  when  five  hundred 
Poles  were  shot  down  by  Cossacks  in  the  market- 
place, merely  because  they  sung  their  national  hymn. 

"  Play  me  that  forbidden  air,"  I  said,  wishing  to 
judge  of  his  skill,  for  I  had  heard  him  practising 
softly  in  the  afternoon. 

He  rose  willingly,  then  glanced  about  the  room 
and  gave  a  little  shrug  which  made  me  ask  what  he 
wanted. 

"  I  look  to  see  if  the  Baron  is  here.  He  is 
Russian,  and  to  him  my  national  air  will  not  be 
pleasing." 

"  Then  play  it.  He  dare  not  forbid  it  here,  and  I 
should  rather  enjoy  that  little  insult  to  your  bitter 


20  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

enemy,"  said  I,  feeling  very  indignant  with  every 
thing  Russian  just  then. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  it  is  true  we  are  enemies,  but 
we  are  also  gentlemen,"  returned  the  boy,  proving 
that  he  at  least  was  one. 

I  thanked  him  for  his  lesson  in  politeness,  and  as 
the  Baron  was  not  there  he  played  the  beautiful 
hymn,  singing  it  enthusiastically  in  spite  of  the 
danger  to  his  weak  lungs.  A  true  musician  evi- 
dently, for,  as  he  sung  his  pale  face  glowed,  his  eyes 
shone,  and  his  lost  vigor  seemed  restored  to  him. 

From  that  evening  we  were  fast  friends  ;  for  the 
memory  of  certain  dear  lads  at  home  made  my 
heart  open  to  this  lonely  boy,  who  gave  me  in 
return  the  most  grateful  affection  and  service.  He 
begged  me  to  call  him  "  Varjo,"  as  his  mother  did. 
He  constituted  himself  my  escort,  errand-boy, 
French  teacher,  and  private  musician,  making  those 
weeks  infinitely  pleasant  by  his  winning  ways,  his 
charming  little  confidences,  and  faithful  friendship. 

We  had  much  fun  over  our  lessons,  for  I  helped 
him  about  his  English.     With  a  great  interest  in 


MY  BOYS.  21 

free  America,  and  an  intense  longing  to  hear  about 
our  war,  the  barrier  of  an  unknown  tongue  did  not 
long  stand  between  us.  Beginning  with  my  bad 
French  and  his  broken  English,  we  got  on  capitally ; 
but  he  outdid  me  entirely,  making  astonishing  prog- 
ress, though  he  often  slapped  his  forehead  with  the 
despairing  exclamation,  — 

"  I  am  imbecile  !  I  never  can  will  shall  to  have 
learn  this  beast  of  English  !  " 

But  he  did,  and  in  a  month  had  added  a  new 
language  to  the  five  he  already  possessed. 

His  music  was  the  delight  of  the  house ;  and  he 
often  gave  us  little  concerts  with  the  help  of  Madam 
Teiblin,  a  German  St.  Cecelia,  with  a  cropped  head 
and  a  gentlemanly  sack,  cravat,  and  collar.  Both 
were  enthusiasts,  and  the  longer  they  played  the 
more  inspired  they  got.  The  piano  vibrated,  the 
stools  creaked,  the  candles  danced  in  their  sockets, 
and  every  one  sat  mute  while  the  four  white  hands 
chased  one  another  up  and  down  the  keys,  and  the 
two  fine  faces  beamed  with  such  ecstacy  that  we 
almost  expected  to  see  instrument  and  performers 
disappear  in  a  musical  whirlwind. 


22  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Lake  Leman  will  never  seem  so  lovely  again  as 
when  Laddie  and  I  roamed  about  its  shores,  floated 
on  its  bosom,  or  laid  splendid  plans  for  the  future  in 
the  sunny  garden  of  the  old  chateau.  I  tried  it 
again  last  year,  but  the  charm  was  gone,  for  I  missed 
my  hoy  with  his  fun,  his  music,  and  the  frank,  fresh 
affection  he  gave  his  "  little  mamma,"  as  he  insisted 
on  calling  the  lofty  spinster  who  loved  him  like  half 
a  dozen  grandmothers  rolled  into  one. 

December  roses  blossomed  in  the  gardens  then, 
and  Laddie  never  failed  to  have  a  posy  ready 
for  me  at  dinner.  Few  evenings  passed  without 
"  confidences  "  in  my  comer  of  the  salon,  and  I  still 
have  a  pile  of  merry  little  notes  which  I  used  to  find 
tucked  under  my  door.  He  called  them  chapters  of 
a  great  history  we  were  to  write  together,  and 
being  a  "polisson "  he  illustrated  it  with  droll  pic- 
tures, and  a  funny  mixture  of  French  and  English 
romance. 

It  was  very  pleasant,  but  like  all  pleasant  things 
in  this  world  of  change  it  soon  Came  to  an  end. 
"When  I  left  for  Italy  we  jokingly  agreed  to  meet  in 


MY  BOYS.  23 

Paris  the  next  May,  but  neither  really  felt  that  we 
should  ever  meet  again,  for  Laddie  hardly  expected 
to  outlive  the  winter,  and  I  felt  sure  I  should  soon 
be  forgotten.  As  he  kissed  my  hand  there  were 
tears  in  my  boy's  eyes,  and  a  choke  in  the  voice  that 
tried  to  say  cheerfully,  — 

"  Bon  voyage,  dear  and  good  little  mamma.  I  do 
not  say  adieu,  but  au  revoir" 

Then  the  carriage  rolled  away,  the  wistful  face 
vanished,  and  nothing  remained  to  me  but  the 
memory  of  Laddie,  and  a  little  stain  on  my  glove 
where  a  drop  had  fallen. 

As  I  drew  near  Paris  six  months  later,  and  found 
myself  wishing  that  I  might  meet  Varjo  in  the  great, 
gay  city,  and  wondering  if  there  was  any  chance  of 
my  doing  it,  I  never  dreamed  of  seeing  him  so  soon ; 
but,  as  I  made  my  way  among  the  crowd  of  passen- 
gers that  poured  through  the  station,  feeling  tired, 
bewildered,  and  homesick,  I  suddenly  saw  a  blue 
and  white  cap  wave  wildly  in  the  air,  then  Laddie's 
beaming  face  appeared,  and  Laddie's  eager  hands 
grasped  mine  so  cordially  that  I  began  to  laugh  at 


24  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

once,  and  felt  that  Paris  was  almost  as  good  as 
home. 

"  Ah,  ha !  behold  the  little  mamma,  who  did  not 
thought  to  see  again  her  bad  son!  Yes,  I  am 
greatly  glad  that  I  make  the  fine  surprise  for  you  as 
you  come  all  weary  to  this  place  of  noise.  Give  to 
me  the  billets,  for  I  am  still  mademoiselle's  servant 
and  go  to  find  the  coffers." 

He  got  my  trunks,  put  me  into  a  carriage,  and  as 
we  rolled  merrily  away  I  asked  how  he  chanced  to 
meet  me  so  unexpectedly.  Knowing  where  I  in- 
tended to  stay,  he  had  called  occasionally  till  I 
notified  Madame  D.  of  the  day  and  hour  of  my 
arrival,  and  then  he  had  come  to  "make  the  fine 
surprise."  He  enjoyed  the  joke  like  a  true  boy,  and 
I  was  glad  to  see  how  well  he  looked,  and  how  gay 
he  seemed. 

"  You  are  better  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  truly  hope  so.  The  winter  was  good  to  me 
and  I  cough  less.  It  is  a  small  hope,  but  I  do  not 
enlarge  my  fear  by  a  sad  face.  I  yet  work  and  save 
a  little  purse,  so  that  I  may  not  be  a  heaviness  to 


MY  BOYS.  25 

those  who  have  the  charity  to  finish  me  if  I  fall  back 
and  yet  die." 

I  would  not  hear  of  that,  and  told  him  he  looked 
as  well  and  happy  as  if  he  had  found  a  fortune. 

He  laughed,  and  answered  with  his  fine  bow,  "  I 
have.  Behold,  you  come  to  make  the  fete  for  me. 
I  find  also  here  my  friends  Joseph  and  Napoleon. 
Poor  as  mouses  of  the  church,  as  you  say,  but  brave 
boys,  and  we  work  together  with  much  gayety." 

When  I  asked  if  he  had  leisure  to  be  my  guide 
about  Paris,  for  my  time  was  short  and  I  wanted  to 
see  every  thing,  he  pranced,  and  told  me  he  had  prom- 
ised himself  a  holiday,  and  had  planned  many  excur- 
sions the  most  wonderful,  charming,  and  gay.  Then, 
having  settled  me  at  Madame's,  he  went  blithely 
away  to  what  I  afterward  discovered  were  very  poor 
lodgings,  across  the  river. 

Next  day  began  the  pleasantest  fortnight  in  all 
my  year  of  travel.  Laddie  appeared  early,  elegant 
to  behold  in  a  new  hat  and  buff  gloves,  and  was 
immensely  amused  because  the  servant  informed  me 
that  my  big  son  had  arrived. 


26  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

I  believe  the  first  thing  a  woman  does  in  Paris  is 
to  buy  a  new  bonnet.  I  did,  or  rather  stood  by  and 
let  "  my  son  "  do  it  in  the  best  of  French,  only  whis- 
pering when  he  proposed  gorgeous  chapeaus  full  of 
flowers  and  feathers,  that  I  could  not  afford  it. 

"  Ah !  we  must  make  our  economies,  must  we  ? 
See,  then,  this  modest,  pearl-colored  one,  with  the 
crape  rose.  Yes,  we  will  have  that,  and  be  most 
elegant  for  the  Sunday  promenade." 

I  fear  I  should  have  bought  a  pea-green  hat  with  a 
yellow  plume  if  he  had  urged  it,  so  wheedlesome  and 
droll  were  his  ways  and  words.  His  good  taste 
saved  me,  however,  and  the  modest  one  was  sent 
home  for  the  morrow,  when  we  were  to  meet  Joseph 
and  Napoleon  and  go  to  the  concert  in  the  Tuileries 
garden. 

Then  we  set  off  on  our  day  of  sight-seeing,  and 
Laddie  proved  himself  an  excellent  guide.  We 
had  ;i  charming  trip  about  the  enchanted  city,  a 
gay  lunch  at  a  cafe,  and  a  first  brief  glimpse  of  the 
Louvre.  At  dinner-time  I  found  a  posy  at  my  jjlace ; 
and  afterward  Laddie  came  and  spent  the  evening 


MY  BOYS.  27 

in  my  little  salon,  playing  to  me,  and  having  what 
he  called  "babblings  and  pleasantries."  I  found 
that  he  was  translating  "  Vanity  Fair "  into  Polish, 
and  intended  to  sell  it  at  home.  He  convulsed  me 
with  his  struggles  to  put  cockney  English  and  slang 
into  good  Polish,  for  he  had  saved  up  a  list  of 
words  for  me  to  explain  to  him.  Haystack  and 
bean-pot  were  among  them,  I  remember ;  and  when 
he  had  mastered  the  meanings  he  fell  upon  the  sofa 
exhausted. 

Other  days  like  this  followed,  and  we  led  a  happy 
life  together;  for  my  twelve  years'  seniority  made 
our  adventures  quite  proper,  and  I  fearlessly  went 
anywhere  on  the  arm  of  my  big  son.  Not  to  thea- 
tres or  balls,  however,  for  heated  rooms  were  bad 
for  Laddie,  but  pleasant  trips  out  of  the  city  in 
the  bright  spring  weather,  quiet  strolls  in  the  gar- 
dens, moonlight  concerts  in  the  Champs  Elysees; 
or,  best  of  all,  long  talks  with  music  in  the  little  red 
salon,  with  the  gas  turned  low,  and  the  ever-chang- 
ing scenes  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  under  the  balcony. 

Never  were  pleasures  more  cheaply  purchased  or 


28  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

more  thoroughly  enjoyed,  for  our  hearts  were  as 
Hght  as  our  purses,  and  our  "  little  economies  "  gave 
zest  to  our  amusements. 

Joseph  and  Napoleon  sometimes  joined  us,  and  I 
felt  in  my  element  with  the  three  invalid  soldier 
boys,  for  Napoleon  still  limped  with  a  wound  re- 
ceived in  the  war,  Joseph  had  never  recovered  from 
his  two  years'  imprisonment  in  an  Austrian  dun- 
geon, and  Laddie's  loyalty  might  yet  cost  him  his 
life. 

Thanks  to  them,  I  discovered  a  joke  played  upon 
me  by  my  "polisson"  He  told  me  to  call  him  " ma 
drogha,"  saying  it  meant  "  my  friend,"  in  Polish.  I 
innocently  did  so,  and  he  seemed  to  find  great  plea- 
ure  in  it,  for  his  eyes  always  laughed  when  I  said  it. 
Using  it  one  day  before  the  other  lads,  I  saw  a  queer 
twinkle  in  their  eyes,  and,  suspecting  mischief,  de- 
manded the  real  meaning  of  the  words.  Laddie 
tried  to  silence  them,  but  the  joke  was  too  good  to 
keep,  and  I  found  to  my  dismay  that  I  had  been 
calling  him  "  my  darling  "  in  the  tenderest  manner. 

How  the  three  rascals  shouted,  and  what  a  vain 


MY  BOYS.  29 

struggle  it  was  to  try  and  preserve  my  dignity  when 
Laddie  clasped  his  hands  and  begged  pardon,  ex- 
plaining that  jokes  were  necessary  to  his  health,  and 
he  never  meant  me  to  know  the  full  baseness  of 
this  "  pleasantrie !  "  I  revenged  myself  by  giving 
him  some  bad  English  for  his  translation,  and  tell- 
ing him  of  it  just  as  I  left  Paris. 

It  was  not  all  fun  with  my  boy,  however ;  he  had 
his  troubles,  and  in  spite  of  his  cheerfulness  he  knew 
what  heartache  was.  Walking  in  the  quaint  garden 
of  the  Luxembourg  one  day,  he  confided  to  me  the 
little  romance  of  his  life.  A  very  touching  little 
romance  as  he  told  it,  with  eloquent  eyes  and  voice 
and  frequent  pauses  for  breath.  I  cannot  give  his 
words,  but  the  simple  facts  were  these :  — 

He  had  grown  up  with  a  pretty  cousin,  and  at 
eighteen  was  desperately  in  love  with  her.  She 
returned  his  affection,  but  they  could  not  be  happy, 
for  her  father  wished  her  to  marry  a  richer  man. 
In  Poland,  to  marry  without  the  consent  of  parents 
is  to  incur  lasting  disgrace ;  so  Leonore  obeyed,  and 
the  young  pair  parted.     This  had  been  a  heavy  sor- 


30  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

row  to  Laddie,  and  he  rushed  into  the  war  hoping 
to  end  his  trouble. 

"  Do  you  ever  hear  from  your  cousin  ? "  I  asked, 
as  he  walked  beside  me,  looking  sadly  down  the 
green  aisles  where  kings  and  queens  had  loved  and 
parted  years  ago. 

"  I  only  know  that  she  suffers  still,  for  she  remem- 
bers. Her  husband  submits  to  the  Russians,  and  I 
despise  him  as  I  have  no  English  to  tell ; "  and  he 
clenched  his  hands  with  the  flash  of  the  eye  and 
sudden  kindling  of  the  whole  face  that  made  him 
handsome. 

He  showed  me  a  faded  little  picture,  and  when  I 
tried  to  comfort  him,  he  laid  his  head  down  on  the 
pedestal  of  one  of  the  marble  queens  who  guard  the 
walk,  as  if  he  never  cared  to  lift  it  up  again. 

But  he  was  all  right  in  a  minute,  and  bravely 
put  away  his  sorrow  with  the  little  picture.  He 
never  spoke  of  it  again,  and  I  saw  no  more  shadows 
on  his  face  till  we  came  to  say  good-by. 

"  You  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  wish  I  had  some- 
thing beautiful  to  give  you,  Laddie,"  I  said,  feeling 
that  it  would  be  hard  to  get  on  without  my  boy. 


MY  BOYS.  31 

"  This  time  it  is  for  always ;  so,  as  a  parting  sou- 
venir, give  to  me  the  sweet  English  good-by." 

As  he  said  this,  with  a  despairing  sort  of  look,  as 
if  he  could  not  spare  even  so  humble  a  friend  as  my- 
self, my  heart  was  quite  rent  within  me,  and,  regard- 
less of  several  prim  English  ladies,  I  drew  down  his 
tall  head  and  kissed  him  tenderly,  feeling  that  in 
this  world  there  were  no  more  meetings  for  us. 
Then  I  ran  away  and  buried  myself  in  an  empty 
railway  carriage,  hugging  the  little  cologne  bottle  he 
had  given  me. 

He  promised  to  write,  and  for  five  years  he  has 
kept  his  word,  sending  me  from  Paris  and  Poland 
cheery,  bright  letters  in  English,  at  my  desire,  so 
that  he  might  not  forget.  Here  is  one  as  a  speci- 
men. 

"  My  Dear  and  Good  Feiend,  —  What  do  you 
think  of  me  that  I  do  not  write  so  long  time  ?  Ex- 
cuse me,  my  good  mamma,  for  I  was  so  busy  in  these 
days  I  could  not  do  this  pleasant  thing.  I  write 
English  without  the  fear  that  you  laugh  at  it,  be- 


32  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

cause  I  know  it  is  more  agreeable  to  read  the  own 
language,  and  I  think  you  are  not  excepted  of  this 
rule.  It  is  good  of  me,  for  the  expressions  of  love 
and  regard,  made  with  faults,  take  the  funny  appear- 
ance; they  are  ridicule,  and  instead  to  go  to  the 
heart,  they  make  the  laugh.     Never  mind,  I  do  it. 

"  You  cannot  imagine  yourself  how  stupide  is 
Paris  when  you  are  gone.  I  fly  to  my  work,  and 
make  no  more  fetes, — it  is  too  sad  alone.  I  tie  my- 
self to  my  table  and  my  Vanity  (not  of  mine,  for  I 
am  not  vain,  am  I  ?).  I  wish  some  chapters  to  finish 
themselfs  vite,  that  I  send  them  to  Pologne  and 
know  the  end.  I  have  a  little  question  to  ask  you 
(of  Vanity  as  always).  I  cannot  translate  this,  no 
one  of  dictionnaires  makes  me  the  words,  and  I 
think  it  is  jargon  de  prison,  this  little  period. 
Behold:  — 

'  Mopy,  is  that  your  snum  1 ' 

'  Nubble  your  dad  and  gully  the  dog,'  &c. 

"So  funny  things  I  cannot  explain  myself,  so  I 
send  to  you,  and  you  reply  sooner  than  without  it, 


MY  BOYS.  33 

for  you  have  so  kind  interest  in  my  work  you  do  not 
stay  to  wait.  So  this  is  a  little  hook  for  you  to  make 
you  write  some  words  to  your  son  who  likes  it  so 
much  and  is  fond  of  you. 

"  My  doctor  tells  me  my  lungs  are  soon  to  be  re- 
established ;  so  you  may  imagine  yourself  how  glad 
I  am,  and  of  more  courage  in  my  future.  You  may 
one  day  see  your  Varjo  in  Amerique,  if  I  study 
commerce  as  I  wish.  So  then  the  last  time  of  seeing 
ourselves  is  not  the  last.  Is  that  to  please  you  ?  I 
sujipose  the  grand  histoire  is  finished,  rt  est  ce  pas  f 
You  will  then  send  it  to  me  care  of  M.  Gryhomski 
Austriche,  and  he  will  give  to  me  in  clandestine 
way  at  Varsovie,  otherwise  it  will  be  confiscated  at 
the  frontier  by  the  stupide  Russians. 

"  Now  we  are  dispersed  in  two  sides  of  world  far 
apart,  for  soon  I  go  home  to  Pologne  and  am  no 
more  'juif  errant?  It  is  now  time  I  work  at  my 
life  in  some  useful  way,  and  I  do  it. 

"  As  I  am  your  grand fils,  it  is  proper  that  I  make 
you  my  compliment  of  happy  Christmas  and  New 
Year,  is  it  not?  I  wish  for  you  so  many  as  they 
3 


34  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

may  fulfil  long  human  life.  May  this  year  bring 
you  more  and  more  good  hearts  to  love  you  (the 
only  real  happiness  in  the  hard  life),  and  may  I  be 
as  now,  yours  for  always, 

"  Varjo." 

A  year  ago  he  sent  me  his  photograph  and  a  few 
lines.  I  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  it,  but  since 
then  not  a  word  has  come,  and  I  begin  to  fear  that 
my  boy  is  dead.  Others  have  appeared  to  take  his 
place,  but  they  don't  suit,  and  I  keep  his  corner  al- 
ways ready  for  him  if  he  lives.  If  he  is  dead,  I  am 
glad  to  have  known  so  sweet  and  brave  a  character, 
for  it  does  one  good  to  see  even  as  short-lived  and 
obscure  a  hero  as  my  Polish  boy,  whose  dead  De- 
cember rose  embalms  for  me  the  memory  of  Varjo, 
the  last  and  dearest  of  my  boys. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add,  for  the  satisfaction 
of  inquisitive  little  women,  that  Laddie  was  the 
original  of  Laurie,  as  far  as  a  pale  pen  and  ink 
sketch  could  embody  a  living,  loving  boy. 


TESSA'S    SURPRISES. 

I. 

T  ITTLE  TESSA  sat  alone  by  the  fire,  waiting 
"^"'  for  her  father  to  come  home  from  work.  The 
children  were  fast  asleep,  all  four  in  the  big  bed 
behind  the  curtain ;  the  wind  blew  hard  outside, 
and  the  snow  beat  on  the  window-panes ;  the  room 
was  large,  and  the  fire  so  small  and  feeble  that  it 
didn't  half  warm  the  little  bare  toes  peeping  out  of 
the  old  shoes  on  the  hearth. 

Tessa's  father  was  an  Italian  plaster-worker,  very 
poor,  but  kind  and  honest.  The  mother  had  died 
not  long  ago,  and  left  twelve-year  old  Tessa  to  take 
care  of  the  little  children.  She  tried  to  be  very  wise 
and  motherly,  and  worked  for  them  like  any  little 
woman ;  but  it  was  so  hard  to  keep  the  small  bodies 
warm  and  fed,  and  the  small  souls  good  and  happy, 
that  poor  Tessa  was  often  at  her  wits'  end.     She 


36  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

always  waited  for  lier  father,  no  matter  how  tired 
she  was,  so  that  he  might  find  his  supper  warm,  a 
bit  of  fire,  and  a  loving  little  face  to  welcome  him. 
Tessa  thought  over  her  troubles  at  these  quiet  times, 
and  made  her  plans ;  for  her  father  left  things  to  her 
a  good  deal,  and  she  had  no  friends  but  Tommo,  the 
harp-boy  upstairs,  and  the  lively  cricket  who  lived 
in  the  chimney.  To-night  her  face  was  very  sober, 
and  her  pretty  brown  eyes  very  thoughtful  as  she 
stared  at  the  fire  and  knit  her  brows,  as  if  perplexed. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  her  old  shoes,  nor  the  empty 
closet,  nor  the  boys'  ragged  clothes  just  then.  No; 
she  had  a  fine  plan  in  her  good  little  head,  and  was 
trying  to  discover  how  she  could  carry  it  out. 

Tou  see,  Christmas  was  coming  in  a  week;  and 
she  had  set  her  heart  on  putting  something  in  the 
children's  stockings,  as  the  mother  used  to  do,  for 
while  she  lived  tilings  were  comfortable.  Now  Tessa 
had  not  a  penny  in  the  world,  and  didn't  know  how 
to  get  one,  for  all  the  father's  earnings  had  to  go  for 
food,  fire,  and  rent. 

"  If  there  were  only  fairies,  ah !  how  heavenly  that 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  37 

would  be ;  for  then,  I  should  tell  them  all  I  wish, 
and,  pop !  behold  the  fine  things  in  my  lap ! "  said 
Tessa  to  herself.  "  I  must  earn  the  money ;  there  is 
no  one  to  give  it  to  me,  and  I  cannot  beg.  But 
what  can  I  do,  so  small  and  stupid  and  shy  as  I  am  ? 
I  must  find  some  way  to  give  the  little  ones  a  nice 
Christinas.  I  must!  I  must!  "  and  Tessa  pulled  her 
long  hah,  as  if  that  would  help  her  think. 

But  it  didn't,  and  her  heart  got  heavier  and 
heavier;  for  it  did  seem  hard  that  in  a  great  city 
full  of  fine  things,  there  should  be  none  for  poor 
Nono,  Sep,  and  little  Speranza.  Just  as  Tessa's 
tears  began  to  tumble  off  her  eyelashes  on  to  her 
brown  cheeks,  the  cricket  began  to  chirp.  Of  course, 
he  didn't  say  a  word ;  but  it  really  did  seem  as  if  he 
had  answered  her  question  almost  as  well  as  a  fairy ; 
for,  before  he  had  piped  a  dozen  shrill  notes,  an  idea 
popped  into  Tessa's  head,  —  such  a  truly  splendid 
idea  that  she  clapped  her  hands  and  burst  out 
laughing.  "  I'll  do  it !  I'll  do  it !  if  father  will  let 
me,"  she  said  to  herself,  smiling  and  nodding  at  the 
fire.     "  Tommo  will  like  to  have  me  go  with  him 


38  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

and  sing,  while  he  plays  his  harp  in  the  streets.  I 
know  many  songs,  and  may  get  money  if  I  am 
not  frightened ;  for  people  throw  pennies  to  other 
little  girls  who  only  play  the  tambourine.  Yes,  I 
will  try ;  and  then,  if  I  do  well,  the  little  ones  shall 
have  a  Merry  Christmas." 

So  full  of  her  plan  was  Tessa,  that  she  ran  upstairs 
at  once,  and  asked  Tommo  if  he  would  take  her  with 
him  on  the  morrow.  Her  friend  was  delighted,  for 
he  thought  Tessa's  songs  very  sweet,  and  was  sure 
she  would  get  money  if  she  tried. 

"  But  see,  then,  it  is  cold  in  the  streets ;  the  wind 
bites,  and  the  snow  freezes  one's  fingers.  The  day 
is  very  long,  people  are .  cross,  and  at  night  one  is 
ready  to  die  with  weariness.  Thou  art  so  small, 
Tessa,  I  am  afraid  it  will  go  badly  with  thee,"  said 
Tommo,  who  was  a  merry,  black-eyed  boy  of  four- 
teen, with  the  kindest  heart  in  the  world  under  his 
old  jacket. 

"  I  do  not  mind  cold  and  wet  and  cross  people,  if 
I  can  get  the  pennies,"  answered  Tessa,  feeling  very 
brave  with  such  a  friend  to  help  her.     She  thanked 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  39 

Tommo,  and  ran  away  to  get  ready,  for  she  felt  sure 
her  father  would  not  refuse  her  any  thing.  She 
sewed  up  the  holes  in  her  shoes  as  well  as  she  could, 
for  she  had  much  of  that  sort  of  cobbling  to  do ;  she 
mended  her  only  gown,  and  laid  ready  the  old  hood 
and  shawl  which  had  been  her  mother's.  Then  she 
washed  out  little  Ranza's  frock  and  put  it  to  dry, 
because  she  would  not  be  able  to  do  it  the  next  day. 
She  set  the  table  and  got  things  ready  for  breakfast, 
for  Tommo  went  out  early,  and  must  not  be  kept 
waiting  for  her.  She  longed  to  make  the  beds  and 
dress  the  children  over  night,  she  was  in  such  a 
hurry  to  have  all  in  order ;  but,  as  that  could  not  be, 
she  sat  down  again,  and  tried  over  all  the  songs  she 
knew.  Six  pretty  ones  were  chosen ;  and  she  sung 
away  with  all  her  heart  in  a  fresh  little  voice  so 
sweetly  that  the  children  smiled  in  their  sleep,  and 
her  father's  tired  face  brightened  as  he  entered,  for 
Tessa  was  his  cheery  cricket  on  the  hearth.  When 
she  had  told  her  plan,  Peter  Benari  shook  his  head, 
and  thought  it  would  never  do ;  but  Tessa  begged  so 
hard,  he  consented  at  last  that  she  should  try  it  for 


40  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

one  week,  and  sent  her  to  bed  the  happiest  little  girl 
in  New  York. 

Next  morning  the  sun  shone,  but  the  cold  wind 
blew,  and  the  snow  lay  thick  in  the  streets.  As 
soon  as  her  father  was  gone,  Tessa  flew  about  and 
put  every  thing  in  nice  order,  telling  the  children  she 
was  going  out  for  the  day,  and  they  were  to  mind 
Tommo's  mother,  who  would  see  about  the  fire  and 
the  dinner;  for  the  good  woman  loved  Tessa,  and 
entered  into  her  little  plans  with  all  her  heart.  Nono 
and  Guiseppe,  or  Sep,  as  they  called  him,  wondered 
what  she  was  going  away  for,  and  little  Ranza  cried 
at  being  left ;  but  Tessa  told  them  they  would  know 
all  about  it  in  a  week,  and  have  a  fine  time  if  they 
were  good;  so  they  kissed  her  all  round  and  let 
her  go. 

Poor  Tessa's  heart  beat  fast  as  she  trudged  away 
with  Tommo,  who  slung  his  harp  over  his  shoulder, 
and  gave  her  his  hand.  It  was  rather  a  dirty  hand, 
but  so  kind  that  Tessa  clung  to  it,  and  kept  looking 
up  at  the  friendly  brown  face  for  encouragement. 

"  We  go  first  to  the  cafe,  where  many  French  and 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  41 

Italians  eat  the  breakfast.  They  like  my  music,  and 
often  give  me  sips  of  hot  coffee,  which  I  like  much. 
You  too  shall  have  the  sips,  and  perhaps  the  pennies, 
for  these  people  are  greatly  kind,"  said  Tommo, 
leading  her  into  a  large  smoky  place,  where  many 
people  sat  at  little  tables,  eating  and  drinking. 
"  See,  now,  have  no  fear ;  give  them  '  Bella  Monica ; ' 
that  is  merry  and  will  make  the  laugh,"  whispered 
Tommo,  tuning  his  harp. 

For  a  moment  Tessa  felt  so  frightened  that  she 
wanted  to  run  away ;  but  she  remembered  the  empty 
stockings  at  home,  and  the  fine  plan,  and  she  re- 
solved not  to  give  it  up.  One  fat  old  Frenchman 
nodded  to  her,  and  it  seemed  to  help  her  very  much ; 
for  she  began  to  sing  before  she  thought,  and  that 
was  the  hardest  part  of  it.  Her  voice  trembled,  and 
her  cheeks  grew  redder  and  redder  as  she  went  on  ; 
but  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  old  shoes,  and  so 
got  through  without  breaking  down,  which  was  very 
nice.  The  people  laughed,  for  the  song  was  merry  ; 
and  the  fat  man  smiled  and  nodded  again.  This 
gave  her  courage  to  try  another,  and  she  sung  better 


42  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

and  better  each  time ;  for  Tommo  played  his  best, 
and  kept  whispering  to  her,  "  Yes ;  we  go  well ;  this 
is  fine.  They  will  give  the  money  and  the  blessed 
coffee." 

So  they  did ;  for,  when  the  little  concert  was  over, 
several  men  put  pennies  in  the  cap  Tessa  offered, 
and  the  fat  man  took  her  on  his  knee,  and  ordered 
a  mug  of  coffee,  and  some  bread  and  butter  for  them 
both.  This  quite  won  her  heart;  and  when  they 
left  the  cafe,  she  kissed  her  hand  to  the  old  French- 
man, and  said  to  her  friend,  "  How  kind  they  are ! 
I  like  this  very  much ;  and  now  it  is  not  hard." 

But  Tommo  shook  his  curly  head,  and  answered, 
soberly,  "  Yes,  I  took  you  there  first,  for  they  love 
music,  and  are  of  our  country ;  but  up  among  the 
great  houses  we  shall  not  always  do  well.  The  peo- 
ple there  are  busy  or  hard  or  idle,  and  care  nothing 
for  harps  and  songs.  Do  not  skip  and  laugh  too 
soon ;  for  the  day  is  long,  and  we  have  but  twelve 
pennies  yet." 

Tessa  walked  more  quietly,  and  rubbed  her  cold 
hands,  feeling  that  the  world  was  a  very  big  j>lace, 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  43 

and  wondering  how  the  children  got  on  at  home 
without  the  little  mother.  Till  noon  they  did  not 
earn  much,  for  every  one  seemed  in  a  hurry,  and  the 
noise  of  many  sleigh-bells  drowned  the  music. 
Slowly  they  made  their  way  up  to  the  great  squares 
where  the  big  houses  were,  with  fine  ladies  and 
pretty  children  at  the  windows.  Here  Tessa  sung 
all  her  best  songs,  and  Tommo  played  as  fast  as  his 
fingers  could  fly ;  but  it  was  too  cold  to  have  the 
windows  open,  so  the  pretty  children  could  not 
listen  long,  and  the  ladies  tossetl  out  a  little  money, 
and  soon  went  back  to  their  own  affairs. 

All  the  afternoon  the  two  Mends  wandered  about, 
singing  and  playing,  and  gathering  up  their  small  har- 
vest. At  dusk  they  went  home,  —  Tessa  so  hoarse 
she  could  hardly  speak,  and  so  tired  she  fell  asleep 
over  her  supper.  But  she  had  made  half  a  dollar, 
for  Tommo  divided  the  money  fairly,  and  she  felt 
rich  with  her  share.  The  other  days  were  very  much 
like  this;  sometimes  they  made  more,  sometimes 
less,  but  Tommo  always  "  went  halves ; "  and  Tessa 
kept  on,  in  spite  of  cold  and  weariness,  for  her  plans 


44  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

grew  as  her  earnings  increased,  and  now  she  hoped 
to  get  useful  things,  instead  of  candy  and  toys 
alone. 

On  the  day  before  Christmas  she  made  herself  as 
tidy  as  she  could,  for  she  hoped  to  earn  a  good  deal. 
She  tied  a  bright  scarlet  handkerchief  over  the  old 
hood,  and  the  brilliant  color  set  off  her  brown  cheeks 
and  bright  eyes,  as  well  as  the  pretty  black  braids 
of  her  hair.  Tommo's  mother  lent  her  a  pair  of 
boots  so  big  that  they  turned  up  at  the  toes,  but 
there  were  no  holes  in  them,  and  Tessa  felt  quite 
elegant  in  whole  boots.  Her  hands  were  covered 
with  chilblains,  for  she  had  no  mittens ;  but  she  put 
them  under  her  shawl,  and  scuffled  merrily  away  in 
her  big  boots,  feeling  so  glad  that  the  week  was 
over,  and  nearly  three  dollars  safe  in  her  pocket. 
How  gay  the  streets  were  that  day !  how  brisk  every 
one  was,  and  how  bright  the  faces  looked,  as  people 
trotted  about  with  big  baskets,  holly-wreaths,  and 
young  evergreens  going  to  blossom  into  splendid 
Christmas  trees ! 

"If  I  could  have  a  tree  for  the  children,  I'd  never 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  45 

want  any  thing  again.  But  I  can't ;  so  I  '11  fill  the 
socks  all  full,  and  be  happy,"  said  Tessa,  as  she 
looked  wistfully  into  the  gay  stores,  and  saw  the 
heavy  baskets  go  by. 

"  Who  knows  what  may  happen  if  we  do  well  ?  " 
returned  Tomino,  nodding  wisely,  for  he  had  a  plan 
as  well  as  Tessa,  and  kept  chuckling  over  it  as  he 
trudged  through  the  mud.  '  They  did  not  do  well, 
somehow,  for  every  one  seemed  so  full  of  their  own 
affairs  they  could  not  stop  to  listen,  even  to  "  Bella 
Monica,"  but  bustled  away  to  spend  their  money  in 
turkeys,  toys,  and  trees.  In  the  afternoon  it  began 
to  rain,  and  poor  Tessa's  heart  to  fail  her ;  for  the 
big  boots  tired  her  feet,  the  cold  wind  made  her 
hands  ache,  and  the  rain  spoilt  the  fine  red  handker- 
chief. Even  Tommo  looked  sober,  and  didn't  whistle 
as  he  walked,  for  he  also  was  disappointed,  and  his 
plan  looked  rather  doubtful,  the  pennies  came  in  so 
slowly. 

"  We  '11  try  one  more  street,  and  then  go  home, 
thou  art  so  tired,  little  one.  Come ;  let  me  wipe  thy 
face,  and  give  me  thy  hand  here  in  my  jacket  pocket ; 


46  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

there  it  will  be  as  warm  as  any  kitten ; "  and  kind 
Tonimo  brushed  away  the  drops  which  were  not  all 
rain  from  Tessa's  cheeks,  tucked  the  poor  hand  into 
his  ragged  pocket,  and  led  her  carefully  along  the 
slippery  streets,  for  the  boots  nearly  tripped  her  up. 


II. 

At  the  first  house,  a  cross  old  gentleman  flapped 
his  newspaper  at  them;  at  the  second,  a  young 
gentleman  and  lady  were  so  busy  talking,  that  they 
never  turned  their  heads ;  and  at  the  third,  a  servant 
came  out  and  told  them  to  go  away,  because  some 
one  was  sick.  At  the  fourth,  some  j>eople  let  them 
sing  all  their  songs,  and  gave  nothing.  The  next 
three  houses  were  empty ;  and  the  last  of  all  showed 
not  a  single  face,  as  they  looked  up  anxiously.  It  was 
so  cold,  so  dark  and  discouraging,  that  Tessa  couldn't 
help  one  sob ;  and,  as  he  glanced  down  at  the  little 
red  nose  and  wet  figure  beside  him,  Tomnio  gave  his 
harp  an  angry  thump,  and  said  something  very  fierce 
in  Italian.    They- were  just  going  to  turn  away;  but 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  47 

they  didn't,  for  that  angry  thump  happened  to  be  the 
best  thing  they  could  have  done.  All  of  a  sudden 
a  little  head  appeared  at  the  window,  as  if  the  sound 
had  brought  it ;  then  another  and  another,  till  there 
were  five,  of  all  heights  and  colors,  and  five  eager 
faces  peeped  out,  smiling  and  nodding  to  the  two 
below. 

"  Sing,  Tessa  ;  sing  !  Quick  !  quick  !  "  cried 
Tommo,  twanging  away  with  all  his  might,  and 
showing  his  white  teeth,  as  he  smiled  back  at  the 
little  gentle-folk. 

Bless  us !  How  Tessa  did  tune  up  at  that !  She 
chirped  away  like  a  real  bird,  forgetting  all  about  the 
tears  on  her  cheeks,  the  ache  in  her  hands,  and  the 
heaviness  at  her  heart.  The  children  laughed,  and 
clapped  their  hands,  and  cried  "  More  !  more  !  Sing 
another,  little  girl !  Please,  do ! "  And'  away  they 
went  again,  piping  and  playing,  till  Tessa's  breath 
was  gone,  and  Tommo's  stout  fingers  tingled  well. 

"  Mamma  says,  come  to  the  door ;  it's  too  muddy 
to  throw  the  money  in  the  street ! "  cried  out  a  kindly 
child's  voice,  as  Tessa  held  up  the  old  cap,  with  be- 
seeching eyes. 


48  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Up  the  wide  stone  steps  went  the  street  nmsicians, 
and  the  whole  flock  came  running  down  to  give  a 
handful  of  silver,  and  ask  all  sorts  of  questions. 
Tessa  felt  so  grateful,'  that,  without  waiting  for 
Tommo,  she  sang  her  sweetest  little  song  all  alone. 
It  was  about  a  lost  lamb,  and  her  heart  was  in  the 
song;  therefore,  she  sang  it  well,  so  well,  that  a 
pretty  young  lady  came  down  to  listen,  and  stood 
watching  the  bright-eyed  child,  who  looked  about 
her  as  she  sang,  evidently  enjoying  the  light  and 
warmth  of  the  fine  hall,  and  the  sight  of  the  lovely 
children  with  their  gay  dresses,  shining  hair,  and 
dainty  little  shoes. 

"  You  have  a  charming  voice,  child.  Who  taught 
you  to  sing  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady,  kindly. 

"My  mother.  She  is  dead  now;  but  I  do  not 
forget,"  answered  Tessa,  in  her  pretty  broken  Eng- 
lish. 

"  I  wish  she  could  sing  at  our  tree,  since  Bella  is 
ill,"  cried  one  of  the  children,  peeping  through  the 
banisters. 

"  She  is  not  fair  enough  for  the  angel,  and  too 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  49 

large  to  go  up  in  the  tree.  But  she  sings  sweetly, 
and  looks  as  if  she  would  like  to  see  a  tree,"  said  the 
young  lady. 

"  Oh,  so  much ! "  exclaimed  Tessa ;  adding  eagerly, 
"my  sister  Ranza  is  small  and  pretty  as  a  baby- 
angel.  She  could  sit  up  in  the  fine  tree,  and  I  could 
sing  for  her  from  under  the  table." 

"  Sit  down  and  warm  yourself,  and  tell  me  about 
Ranza,"  said  the  kind  elder  sister,  who  liked  the 
confiding  little  girl,  in  spite  of  her  shabby  clothes. 

So  Tessa  sat  down  and  dried  the  big  boots  over 
the  furnace,  and  told  her  story,  while  Tommo  stood 
modestly  in  the  background,  and  the  children 
listened  with  faces  full  of  interest. 

"  O  Rose !  Let  us  see  the  little  girl ;  and  if  she 
will  do,  let  us  have  her,  and  Tessa  can  learn  our 
song,  and  it  will  be  splendid!"  cried  the  biggest 
boy,  who  sat  astride  of  a  chair,  and  stared  at  the 
harp  with  round  eyes. 

"  I'll  ask  mamma,"  said  Rose  ;  and  away  she  went 
into  the  dining-room  close  by.  As  the  door  opened, 
Tessa  saw  what  looked  to  her  like  a  fairy  feast, — 
.     4 


50  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

all  silver  mugs  and  flowery  plates  and  oranges  and 
nuts  and  rosy  wine  in  tall  glass  pitchers,  and  smok- 
ing dishes  that  smelt  so  deliciously  she  could  not 
restrain  a  little  sniff  of  satisfaction. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  asked  the  boy,  in  a  grand 
tone. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  meekly  answered  Tessa. 

"I  say,  mamma;  she  wants  something  to  eat. 
Can  I  give  her  an  orange  ?  "  called  the  hoy,  pranc- 
ing away  into  the  splendid  room,  quite  like  a  fairy 
prince,  Tessa  thought. 

A  plump,  motherly  lady  came  out  and  looked  at 
Tessa,  asked  a  few  questions,  and  then  told  her  to 
come  to-morrow  with  Ranza,  and  they  would  see 
what  could  be  clone.  Tessa  clapped  her  hands  for 
joy,  —  she  didn't  mind  the  chilblains  now, —  and 
Tommo  played  a  lively  march,  he  was  so  pleased. 

"  Will  you  come,  too,  and  bring  your  harp  ?  You 
shall  be  paid,  and  shall  have  something  from  the 
tree,  likewise,"  said  the  motherly  lady,  who  liked 
what  Tessa  gratefully  told  about  his  kindness  to  her. 

"  Ah,  yes ;  I  shall  come  with  much  gladness,  and 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  51 

play  as  never  in  my  life  before,"  cried  Tommo,  with 
a  flourish  of  the  old  cap  that  made  the  children 
laugh. 

"Give  these  to  your  brothers,"  said  the  fairy 
prince,  stuffing  nuts  and  oranges  into  Tessa's  hands. 

"  And  these  to  the  little  girl,"  added  one  of  the 
young  princesses,  flying  out  of  the  dining-room  with 
cakes  and  rosy  apples  for  Ranza. 

Tessa  didn't  know  what  to  say;  but  her  eyes 
were  full,  and  she  just  took  the  mother's  white  hand 
in  both  her  little  grimy  ones,  and  kissed  it  many 
times  in  her  pretty  Italian  fashion.  The  lady  under- 
stood her,  and  stroked  her  cheek  softly,  saying  to 
her  elder  daughter,  "  We  must  take  care  of  this 
good  little  creature.  Freddy,  bring  me  your  mit- 
tens ;  these  poor  hands  must  be  covered.  Alice,  get 
your  play-hood ;  this  handkerchief  is  all  wet ;  and, 
Maud,  bring  the  old  chinchilla  tippet." 

The  children  ran,  and  in  a  minute  there  were 
lovely  blue  mittens  on  the  red  hands,  a  warm  hood 
over  the  black  braids,  and  a  soft  "  pussy  "  round  the 
sore  throat. 


52  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"Ah!  so  kind,  so  very  kind!  I  have  no  way  to 
say  '  thank  you ; '  but  Ranza  shall  be  for  you  a 
heavenly  angel,  and  I  will  sing  my  heart  out  for 
your  tree ! "  cried  Tessa,  folding  the  mittens  as  if 
she  would  say  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  if  she  knew 
how. 

Then  they  went  away,  and  the  pretty  children 
called  after  them,  "  Come  again,  Tessa !  come  again, 
Tommo!"  Now  the  rain  didn't  seem  dismal,  the 
wind  cold,  nor  the  way  long,  as  they  bought  their 
gifts  and  hurried  home,  for  kind  words  and  the 
sweet  magic  of  charity  had  changed  all  the  world 
to  them. 

I  think  the  good  spirits  who  fly  about  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  to  help  the  loving  fillers  of  little  stockings, 
smiled  very  kindly  on  Tessa  as  she  brooded  joyfully 
over  the  small  store  of  presents  that  seemed  so  mag- 
nificent to  her.  All  the  goodies  were  divided  evenly 
into  three  parts  and  stowed  away  in  father's  three 
big  socks,  which  hung  against  the  curtain.  With 
her  three  dollars,  she  had  got  a  pair  of  shoes  for 
Nono,  a  knit  cap  for  Sep,  and  a  pair  of  white  stock- 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  53 

ings  for  Ranza ;  to  lier  she  also  gave  the  new  hood; 
to  Nono  the  mittens  ;  and  to  Sep  the  tippet. 

"  Now  the  dear  boys  can  go  out,  and  my  Ranza 
will  be  ready  for  the  lady  to  see,  in  her  nice  new 
things,"  said  Tessa,  quite  sighing  with  pleasure  to 
see  how  well  the  gifts  looked  pinned  up  beside  the 
bulging  socks,  which  wouldn't  hold  them  all.  The 
little  mother  kept  nothing  for  herself  but  the  pleas- 
ure of  giving  every  thing  away ;  yet,  I  think,  she 
was  both  richer  and  happier  than  if  she  had  kept 
them  all.  Her  father  laughed  as  he  had  not  done 
since  the  mother  died,  when  he  saw  how  comically 
the  old  curtain  had  broken  out  into  boots  and  hoods, 
stockings  and  tippets. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  gold  gown  and  a  silver  hat  for 
thee,  my  Tessa,  thou  art  so  good.  May  the  saints 
bless  and  keep  thee  always ! "  said  Peter  Benari 
tenderly,  as  he  held  his  little  daughter  close,  and 
gave  her  the  good-night  kiss. 

Tessa  felt  very  rich  as  she  crept  under  the  faded 
counterpane,  feeling  as  if  she  had  received  a  lovely 
gift,  and  fell  happily  asleep  with  chubby  Ranza  in 


54  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

her  arms,  and  the  two  rough  black  heads  peeping 
out  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She  dreamed  wonderful 
dreams  that  night,  and  woke  in  the  morning  to  find 
real  wonders  before  her  eyes.  She  got  up  early,  to 
see  if  the  socks  were  all  right,  and  there  she  found 
the  most  astonishing  sight.  Four  socks,  instead  of 
three ;  and  by  the  fourth,  pinned  out  quite  elegantly, 
was  a  little  dress,  evidently  meant  for  her,  —  a  warm, 
woollen  dress,  all  made,  and  actually  with  bright 
buttons  on  it.  It  nearly  took  her  breath  away ;  so 
did  the  new  boots  on  the  floor,  and  the  funny  long 
stocking  like  a  gray  sausage,  with  a  wooden  doll 
staring  out  at  the  top,  as  if  she  said,  politely,  "  A 
Merry  Christmas,  ma'am ! "  Tessa  screamed  and 
danced  in  her  delight,  and  up  tumbled  all  the  chil- 
dren to  scream  and  dance  with  her,  making  a  regular 
carnival  on  a  small  scale.  Everybody  hugged  and 
kissed  everybody  else,  offered  sucks  of  orange,  bites 
of  cake,  and  exchanges  of  candy ;  every  one  tried 
on  the  new  things,  and  pranced  about  in  them  like 
a  flock  of  peacocks.  Ranza  skipped  to  and  fro  airily, 
dressed  in  her  white  socks  and  the  red  hood ;  the 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  55 

boys  promenaded  in  their  little  shirts,  one  with  his 
creaking  new  shoes  and  mittens,  the  other  in  his 
gay  cap  and  fine  tippet ;  and  Tessa  put  her  dress 
straight  on,  feeling  that  her  father's  "  gold  gown " 
was  not  all  a  joke.  In  her  long  stocking  she  found 
all  sorts  of  treasures ;  for  Tommo  had  stuffed  it  full 
of  queer  things,  and  his  mother  had  made  ginger- 
bread into  every  imaginable  shape,  from  fat  pigs  to 
full  omnibuses. 

Dear  me !  "What  happy  little  souls  they  were 
that  morning ;  and  when  they  were  quiet  again,  how 
like  a  fairy  tale  did  Tessa's  story  sound  to  them. 
Ranza  was  quite  ready  to  be  an  angel ;  and  the  boys 
promised  to  be  marvellously  good,  if  they  were  only 
allowed  to  see  the  tree  at  the  "palace,"  as  they 
called  the  great  house. 

Little  Ranza  was  accepted  with  delight  by  the 
kind  lady  and  her  children,  and  Tessa  learned  the 
song  quite  easily.  The  boys  were  asked ;  and,  after 
a  happy  day,  the  young  Italians  all  returned,  to  play 
their  parts  at  the  fine  Christmas  party.  Mamma 
and  Miss  Rose  drilled  them  all ;  and,  when  the  fold- 


56  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

ing-doors  flew  open,  one  rapturous  "Oh!"  arose 
from  the  crowd  of  children  gathered  to  the  festival. 
I  assure  you,  it  was  splendid ;  the  great  tree  glitter- 
ing with  lights  and  gifts  ;  and,  on  her  invisible  perch, 
up  among  the  green  boughs,  sat  the  little  golden- 
haired  angel,  all  in  white,  with  downy  wings,  a 
shining  crown  on  her  head,  and  the  most  serene 
satisfaction  in  her  blue  eyes,  as  she  stretched  her 
chubby  arms  to  those  below,  and  smiled  her  baby 
smile  at  them.  Before  any  one  could  speak,  a  voice, 
as  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  lark's,  sang  the  Christmas 
Carol  so  blithely,  that  every  one  stood  still  to  hear, 
and  then  cla]3ped  till  the  little  angel  shook  on  her 
perch,  and  cried  out,  "  Be  'till,  or  me'll  fall ! "  How 
they  laughed  at  that ;  and  what  fun  they  had  talking 
to  Ranza,  while  Miss  Rose  stripped  the  tree,  for  the 
angel  could  not  resist  temptation,  and  amused  her- 
self by  eating  all  the  bonbons  she  could  reach,  till 
she  was  taken  down,  to  dance  about  like  a  fairy  in  a 
white  frock  and  red  shoes.  Tessa  and  her  friends 
had  many  presents;  the  boys  were  perfect  lambs, 
Tommo  played  for  the  little  folks  to  dance,  and 


TESSA'S  SURPRISES.  57 

every  one  said  something  friendly  to  the  strangers, 
so  that  they  did  not  feel  shy,  in  spite  of  shabby 
clothes.  It  was  a  happy  night ;  and  all  their  lives 
they  remembered  it  as  something  too  beautiful  and 
bright  to  be  quite  true.  Before  they  went  home, 
the  kind  mamma  told  Tessa  she  should  be  her 
friend,  and  gave  her  a  motherly  kiss,  which  warmed 
the  child's  heart  and  seemed  to  set  a  seal  upon  that 
promise.  It  was  faithfully  kept,  for  the  rich  lady 
had  been  touched  by  Tessa's  patient  struggles  and 
sacrifices ;  and  for  many  years,  thanks  to  her  benev- 
olence, there  was  no  end  to  Tessa's  Surprises. 


58  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


BUZZ. 

T  LIVE  high  up  in  a  city  house  all  alone.  My 
room  is  a  cosy  little  place,  though  there  is 
nothing  very  splendid  in  it,  —  only  my  pictures 
and  books,  my  flowers  and  my  little  friend.  When 
I  began  to  live  there,  I  was  very  busy  and  there- 
fore very  happy;  but  by  and  by,  when  my  hurry 
was  over  and  I  had  more  time  to  myself,  I  often 
felt  lonely.  When  I  ate  my  meals  I  used  to  wish 
for  a  pleasant  companion  to  eat  with  me ;  and  when 
I  sat  by  the  fire  evenings,  I  thought  how  much  more 
social  it  would  be  if  some  one  sat  opposite.  I  had 
many  friends  and  callers  through  the  day,  but  the 
evenings  were  often  rather  dull ;  for  I  couldn't  read 
much,  and  didn't  care  to  go  out  in  the  stormy 
weather. 

I  was  wishing  for  a   cheerful  friend  one  night, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  I  found  one ;  for,  sitting  on 


buzz.  59 

my  hand,  I  saw  a  plump,  jolly-looking  fly.  He  sat 
quietly  staring  at  me,  with  a  mild  little  hum,  as  if 
to  say, — 

"  How  are  you  ?  You  wanted,  a  friend,  and  here 
I  am.     "Will  you  have  me  ?  " 

Of  course  I  would,  for  I  liked  him  directly,  he  was 
so  cheery  and  confiding,  and  seemed  as  glad  to  see 
me  as  I  was  to  see  him.  All  his  mates  were  dead 
and  gone,  and  he  was  alone,  like  myself.  So  I  wag- 
gled one  finger,  by  way  of  welcome,.fearing  to  shake 
my  hand,  lest  he  should  tumble  off  and  feel  hurt  at 
my  reception.  He  seemed  to  understand  me,  and 
buzzed  again,  evidently  saying,  — 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am.  I  should  like  to  stay  in  your 
warm  room,  and.  amuse  you  for  my  board.  I  won't 
disturb  you,  but  do  my  best  to  be  a  good  little 
friend." 

So  the  bargain  was  struck,  and  he  stopped  to  tea. 
I  found  that  his  manners  had  been  neglected ;  for  he 
was  inclined  to  walk  over  the  butter,  drink  out  of 
the  cream-pot,  and  put  his  fingers  in  the  jelly.  A 
few  taj:>s  with  my  spoon  taught  him  to  behave  with 


60  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

more  propriety,  and  he  sipped  a  drop  of  milk  from 
the  waiter  with  a  crumb  of  sugar,  as  a  well-bred  fly- 
should  do. 

On  account  of  his  fine  voice,  I  named  him  Buzz, 
and  we  soon  got  on  excellently  together.  He 
seemed  to  like  his  new  quarters,  and,  after  explor- 
ing every  corner  of  the  room,  he  chose  his  favorite 
haunts  and  began  to  enjoy  himself.  I  always  knew 
where  he  was,  for  he  kept  up  a  constant  song,  hum- 
ming and  buzzing,  like  a  little  kettle  getting  ready 
to  boil. 

On  sunny  days,  he  amused  himself  by  bumping 
his  head  against  the  window,  and  watching  what 
went  on  outside.  It  would  have  given  me  a  head- 
ache, but  he  seemed  to  enjoy  it  immensely.  Up 
in  my  hanging  basket  of  ivy  he  made  his  bower, 
and  sat  there  on  the  moss  basking  in  the  sunshine, 
as  luxuriously  as  any  gentleman  in  his  conservatory. 
He  was  interested  in  the  plants,  and  examined  them 
daily  with  great  care,  walking  over  the  ivy  leaves, 
grubbing  under  the  moss,  and  poking  his  head  into 
the  unfolding  hyacinth  buds  to  see  how  they  got  on. 


BUZZ.  61 

The  pictures,  also,  seemed  to  attract  his  attention, 
for  he  spent  much  time  skating  over  the  glasses  and 
studying  the  designs.  Sometimes  I  would  find  him 
staring  at  my  Madonna,  as  if  he  said,  "  What  in  the 
world  are  all  those  topsy-turvy  children  about  ? " 
Then  he'd  sit  in  the  middle  of  a  brook,  in  a  water- 
color  sketch  by  Vautin,  as  if  bathing  his  feet,  or 
seem  to  be  eating  the  cherry  which  one  little  duck 
politely  offers  another  little  duck,  in  Oscar  Pletch's 
Summer  Party.  He  frequently  kissed  my  mother's 
portrait,  and  sat  on  my  father's  bald  head,  as  if  try- 
ing to  get  out  some  of  the  wisdom  stored  up  there, 
like  honey  in  an  ill-thatched  bee-hive.  My  bronze 
Mercury  rather  puzzled  him,  for  he  could  not  under- 
stand why  the  young  gentleman  didn't  fly  off  when 
he  had  four  wings  and  seemed  in  such  a  hurry. 

I'm  afraid  he  was  a  trifle  vain,  for  he  sat  before 
the  glass  a  great  deal,  and  I  often  saw  him  cleaning 
his  proboscis,  and  twiddling  his  feelers,  and  I  know 
he  was  "  prinking,"  as  we  say.  The  books  pleased 
him,  too,  and  he  used  to  run  them  over,  as  if  trying 
to  choose  which  he  would  read,  and  never  seemed 


62  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

able  to  decide.  He  would  have  nothing  to  say  to 
the  fat  French  Dictionary,  or  my  English  Plays,  but 
liked  Goethe  and  Schiller,  Emerson  and  Browning, 
as  well  as  I  did.  Carlyle  didn't  suit  him,  and 
Richter  evidently  made  his  head  ache.  But  Jean 
Ingelow's  Poems  delighted  him,  and  so  did  her 
" Stories  Told  to  a  Child."  " Fairy  Bells"  he  often 
listened  to,  and  was  very  fond  of  the  pictures  in  a 
photograph  book  of  foreign  places  and  great  people. 
Pie  frequently  promenaded  on  the  piazza  of  a 
little  Swiss  chalet,  standing  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and  thought  it  a  charming  residence  for  a  single 
gentleman  like  himself.  The  closet  delighted  him 
extremely,  and  he  buzzed  in  the  most  joyful  manner 
when  he  got  among  the  provisions,  —  for  we  kept 
house  together.  Such  revels  as  he  had  in  the  sugar- 
bowl  ;  such  feasts  of  gingerbread  and  grapes ;  such 
long  sips  of  milk,  and  sly  peeps  into  every  uncovered 
box  and  dish !  Once  I'm  afraid  he  took  too  much 
cider,  for  I  found  him  lying  on  his  back,  kicking  and 
humming  like  a  crazy  top,  and  he  was  very  queer  all 
the  rest  of  that  day ;  so  I  kept  the  bottle  corked 


buzz.  63 

after  that.  But  his  favorite  nook  was  among  the 
ferns  in  the  vase  which  a  Parian  dancing-girl  carried. 
She  stood  just  over  the  stove  on  one  little  toe,  rat- 
tling some  castanets,  which  made  no  sound,  and 
never  getting  a  step  farther  for  all  her  prancing. 
This  was  a  warm  and  pretty  retreat  for  Buzz,  and- 
there  he  spent  much  of  his  time,  swinging  on  the 
ferns,  sleeping  snugly  in  the  vase,  or  warming  his 
feet  in  the  hot  air  that  blew  up,  like  a  south  wind, 
from  the  stove. 

I  don't  believe  there  was  a  happier  fly  in  Boston 
than  my  friend  Buzz,  and  I  grew  fonder  and  fonder 
of  him  every  day ;  for  he  never  got  into  mischief, 
but  sung  his  cheery  song,  no  matter  what  the 
weather  was,  and  made  himself  agreeable.  Then 
he  was  so  interested  in  all  I  did,  it  was  delightful 
to  have  him  round.  When  I  wrote  he  came  and 
walked  about  over  my  paper  to  see  that  it  was  right, 
peeped  into  my  ink-stand,  and  ran  after  my  pen. 
He  never  made  silly  or  sharp  criticisms  on  my 
stories,  but  appeared  to  admire  them  very  much ; 
so  I  am  sure  he  was  a  good  judge.    When  I  sewed, 


64  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

he  sat  in  my  basket,  or  played  hide-and-seek  in  the 
folds  of  my  work,  talking  away  all  the  while  in  the 
most  sociable  manner.  He  often  flew  np  all  of  a 
sudden,  and  danced  about  in  the  air,  as  if  he  was  in 
such  a  jolly  mood  he  couldn't  keep  still,  and  wanted 
me  to  come  and  play  with  him.  But,  alas !  I  had 
no  wings,  and  could  only  sit  stupidly  still,  and  laugh 
at  his  pranks.  That  was  his  exercise,  for  he  never 
went  out,  and  only  took  a  sniff  of  air  now  and  then 
when  I  opened  the  windows. 

Well,  little  Buzz  and  I  lived  together  many  weeks, 
and  never  got  tired  of  one  another,  which  is  saying 
a  good  deal.  At  Christmas  I  went  home  for  a  week 
and  left  my  room  to  take  care  of  itself.  I  put  the 
hyacinths  into  the  closet  to  be  warm,  and  dropped 
the  curtain,  so  the  frost  should  not  nip  my  ivy ;  but 
I  forgot  Buzz.  I  really  would  have  taken  him  with 
me,  or  carried  him  down  to  a  neighbor's  room  to  be 
taken  care  of  while  I  was  away,  but  I  never  thought 
of  him  in  the  hurry  of  getting  my  presents  and  my- 
self ready.  Off  I  went  without  even  saying  "  good- 
by,"   and  never    thought  of  my  little   friend  till 


buzz.  65 

Ereddy,  my  small  nephew,  said  to  me  one  evening 
at  dusk,  — 

"  Aunt  Jo,  tell  me  a  story." 

So  I  began  to  tell  him  about  Buzz,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  I  cried  out,  — 

"  Mercy  on  me !  I'm  afraid  he'll  die  of  cold  while 
I'm  gone." 

It  troubled  me  a  good  deal,  and  I  wanted  to  know 
how  the  poor  little  fellow  was  so  much  that  I  would 
have  gone  to  see  if  I  had  not  been  so  far  away. 
But  it  would  be  rather  silly  to  hurry  away  twenty 
miles  to  look  after  one  fly :  so  I  finished  my  visit, 
and  then  went  back  to  my  room,  hoping  to  find  Buzz 
alive  and  well  in  spite  of  the  cold.  /v 

Alas,  no!  my  little  friend  was  gone.  There  he 
lay  on  his  back  on  the  mantel-piece,  his  legs  meekly 
folded,  and  his  wings  stiff  and  still.  He  had  evi- 
dently gone  to  the  warm  place,  and  been  surprised 
when  the  heat  died  out  and  left  him  to  freeze.  My 
poor  little  Buzz  had  sung  his  last  song,  danced  his 
last  dance,  and  gone  where  the  good  flies  go.  I  was 
very  sorry,  and  buried  him  among  the  ivy  roots, 
5 


66  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

where  the  moss  lay  green  above  him,  the  sun  shone 
warmly  on  him,  and  the  bitter  cold  could  never 
come.  I  miss  him  very  much ;  when  I  sit  writing, 
I  miss  his  cheerful  voice  and  busy  wings ;  at  meals 
there  is  no  tidy  little  body  to  drink  up  spilt  drops 
and  eat  the  crumbs ;  in  the  evenings,  when  I  sit 
alone,  I  want  him  more  than  ever,  and  every  day  as 
I  water  my  plants,  I  say,  softly,  — 

"  Grow  green,  ivy,  He  lightly,  moss,  shine  warmly, 
sun,  and  make  his  last  bed  pleasant  to  my  little 
friend." 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  67 


THE   CHILDREN'S   JOKE. 

"'"\7"0U  can't  do  this'  and  ' you  mustn't  do  that,' 
from  morning  to  night.  Try  it  yourself  and 
see  how  you'd  like  it,"  muttered  Harry,  as  he  flung 
down  his  hat  in  sulky  obedience  to  his  father's  com- 
mand to  give  up  a  swim  in  the  river  and  keep  him- 
self cool  with  a  book  that  warm  summer  evening. 

"  Of  course  I  should  like  to  mind  my  parents. 
Good  children  always  do,"  began  Mr.  Fairbairn, 
entirely  forgetting  the  pranks  of  his  boyhood,  as 
people  are  apt  to. 

"  Glad  I  didn't  know  you  then.  Must  have  been 
a  regular  prig,"  growled  Harry  under  his  breath. 

"  Silence,  sir !  go  to  your  room,  and  don't  let  me 
see  y«u  till  tea-time.  You  must  be  taught  respect 
as  well  as  obedience,"  and  Mr.  Fairbairn  gave  the 
table  a  rap  that  caused  his  son  to  retire  precipi- 
tately. 


68  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

On  the  stairs  he  met  his  sister  Kitty  looking  as 
cross  as  himself. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  asked,  pausing 
a  minute,  for  misery  loves  company. 

"  Mamma  will  make  me  dress  up  in  a  stiff  clean 
frock,  and  have  my  hair  curled  over  again,  just 
because  some  one  may  come.  I  want  to  play  in  the 
garden,  and  I  can't  all  fussed  up  this  way.  I  do 
hate  company  and  clothes  and  manners,  don't  you?" 
answered  Kitty,  with  a  spiteful  pull  at  her  sash. 

"  I  hate  being  ordered  round  everlastingly,  and 
badgered  from  morning  till  night.  I'd  just  like  to 
be  let  alone,"  and  Harry  went  on  his  way  to  cap- 
tivity with  a  grim  shake  of  the  head  and  a  very 
strong  desire  to  run  away  from  home  altogether. 

"  So  would  I,  mamma  is  so  fussy.  I  never  have 
any  peace  of  my  life,"  sighed  Kitty,  feeling  that  her 
lot  was  a  hard  one. 

The  martyr  in  brown  linen  went  up,  and  the  other 
martyr  in  white  cambric  went  down,  both  looking  as 
they  felt,  rebellious  and  unhappy.  Yet  a  stranger 
seeing  them  and  their  home  would  have  thought 


THE  CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  69 

they  had  every  thing  heart  could  desire.  All  the 
comforts  that  money  could  buy,  and  all  the  beauty 
that  taste  could  give  seemed  gathered  round  them. 
Papa  and  mamma  loved  the  two  little  people  dearly, 
and  no  real  care  or  sorrow  came  to  trouble  the  lives 
that  would  have  been  all  sunshine  but  for  one  thing. 
With  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Fairbairn  were  spoiling  their  children  by  constant 
fault-finding,  too  many  rules,  and  too  little  sympathy 
with  the  active  young  souls  and  bodies  under  their 
care.  Ass  Harry  said,  they  were  ordered  about,  cor- 
rected and  fussed  over  from  morning  till  night,  and 
were  getting  so  tired  of  it  that  the  most  desperate 
ideas  began  to  enter  their  heads. 

Now,  in  the  house  was  a  quiet  old  maiden  aunt, 
who  saw  the  mischief  brewing  and  tried  to  cure  it 
by  suggesting  more  liberty  and  less  "  nagging,"  as 
the  boys  call  it.  But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.  always 
silenced  her  by  saying,  — 

"  My  dear  Betsey,  you  never  had  a  family,  so  how 
can  you  know  any  thing  about  the  proper  manage- 
ment of  children  ?  " 


70  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

They  quite  forgot  that  sister  Betsey  had  brought 
up  a  flock  of  motherless  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
done  it  wisely  and  well,  though  she  never  got  any 
thanks  or  praise  for  it,  and  never  expected  any  for 
doing  her  duty  faithfully.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
aunty,  Harry  and  Kitty  would  have  long  ago  carried 
out  their  favorite  plan  and  have  run  away  together, 
like  Roland  and  Maybird.  She  kept  them  from  this 
foolish  prank  by  all  sorts  -of  unsuspected  means,  and 
was  their  refuge  in  troublous  times.  For  all  her 
quiet  ways,  aunty  was  full  of  fun  as  well  as  sympa- 
thy and  patience,  and  she  smoothed  the  thorny  road 
to  virtue  with  the  innocent  and  kindly  little  arts 
that  make  some  people  as  useful  and  beloved  as 
good  fairy  godmothers  were  once  upon  a  time. 

As  they  sat  at  tea  that  evening  papa  and  mamma 
were  most  affable  and  lively;  but  the  children's 
spirits  were  depressed  by  a  long  day  of  restraint,  and 
they  sat  like  well-bred  mutes,  languidly  eating  their 
supper. 

"It's  the  warm  weather.  They  need  something 
bracing.  I'll  give  them  a  dose  of  iron  mixture  to- 
morrow," said  mamma. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  71 

*c  Fve  taken  enough  now  to  make  a  cooking-stove," 
groaned  Kitty,  who  hated  being  dosed. 

"  If  you'd  let  me  go  swimming  every  night  I'd  be 
all  right,"  added  Harry. 

"  Not  another  word  on  that  point.  I  will  not  let 
you  do  it,  for  you  will  get  drowned  as  sure  as  you 
try,"  said  mamma,  who  was  so  timid  she  had  panics 
the  minute  her  boy  was  out  of  sight. 

"Aunt  Betsey  let  her  boys  go,  and  they  never 
came  to  grief,"  began  Harry. 

"  Aunt  Betsey's  ideas  and  mine  differ.  Children 
are  not  brought  up  now  as  they  were  in  her  day," 
answered  mamma  with  a  superior  air. 

"I  just  wish,  they  werQ.  Jolly  good  times  her 
boys  had." 

"  Yes,  and  girls  too,  playing  any  thing  they  liked, 
and  not  rigged  up  and  plagued  with  company,"  cried 
Kitty,  with  sudden  interest. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  papa,  good- 
naturedly  ;  for  somehow  his  youth  returned  to  him 
for  a  minute,  and  seemed  very  pleasant. 

The  children  could  not  explain  very  well,  but 
Harry  said  slowly, — 


72  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  If  you  were  to  be  in  our  places  for  a  day  you'd 
see  what  we  mean." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  worth  your  while  to  try  the  ex- 
periment ?  "  said  Aunt  Betsey,  with  a  smile. 

Papa  and  mamma  laughed  at  the  idea,  but  looked 
sober  when  aunty  added,  — 

"  Why  not  put  yourselves  in  their  places  for  a  day 
and  see  how  you  like  it  ?  I  think  you  would  under- 
stand the  case  better  than  any  one  could  describe  it, 
and  perhaps  do  both  yourselves  and  the  children  a 
lasting  service." 

"  Upon  my  word,  that's  a  droll  idea !  What  do 
you  say  to  it,  mamma?"  and  papa  looked  much 
amused. 

"I  am  willing  to  try  it  if  you  are,  just  for  the  fun 
of  the  thing,  but  I  don't  think  it  will  do  any  good ; " 
and  mamma  shook  her  head  as  if  Aunt  Betsey's 
plan  was  a  wild  one. 

The  children  sat  quite  speechless  with  surprise 
at  this  singular  proposal,  but  as  its  full  richness 
dawned  upon  them,  they  skipped  in  their  chairs  and 
clapped  then-  hands  delightedly. 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  73 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  carry  out  this  new  edu- 
cational frolic?"  asked  papa,  beginning  to  feel  some 
curiosity  as  to  the  part  he  was  to  play. 

"  Merely  let  the  children  do  as  they  like  for  one 
day  and  have  full  power  over  you.  Let  them  plan 
your  duties  and  pleasures,  order  your  food,  fix  your 
hours,  and  punish  or  reward  you  as  they  think 
proper.  You  must  promise  entire  obedienee,  and 
keep  the  agreement  till  night." 

"  Good !  good !  Oh,  won't  it  be  fun ! "  cried  Harry 
and  Kitty,  applauding  enthusiastically;  while  papa 
and  mamma  looked  rather  sober  as  the  plan  was 
developed  before  them. 

"To-morrow  is  a  holiday^for  us  all,  and  we  might 
celebrate  it"by  this  funny  experiment.  It  will  amuse 
us  and  do  no  harm,  at  any  rate,"  added  aunty,  quite 
in  love  with  her  new  scheme. 

"  Very  well,  we  will.  Come,  mamma,  let  us  prom- 
ise, and  see  what  these  rogues  will  do  for  us.  Play- 
ing father  and  mother  is  no  joke,  mind  you ;  but  you 
will  have  an  easier  time  of  it  than  we  do,  for  we 
shall  behave  ourselves,"  said  papa,  with  a  virtuous 
expression. 


74  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Mamma  agreed,  and  the  supper  ended  merrily,  for 
every  one  was  full  of  curiosity  as  to  the  success  of 
the  new  play.  Harry  and  Kitty  went  to  bed  early, 
that  they  might  be  ready  for  the  exciting  labors  of 
the  next  day.  Aunt  Betsey  paid  each  a  short  visit 
before  they  slept,  and  it  is  supposed  that  she  laid 
out  the  order  of  performances,  and  told  each  what 
to  do ;  for  the  little  people  would  never  have  thought 
of  so  many  sly  things  if  left  to  themselves. 

At  seven,  the  next  morning,  as  mamma  was  in 
her  dressing-room,  just  putting  on  her  cool,  easy 
wrapper,  in  came  Kitty  with  a  solemn  face,  though 
her  eyes  danced  with  fun,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Careless,  untidy  girl !  Put  on  a  clean  dress,  do 
up  your  hair  properly,  and  go  and  practise  half  an 
hour  before  breakfast." 

At  first  mamma  looked  as  if  inclined  to  refuse,  but 
Kitty  was  firm ;  and,  with  a  sigh,  mamma  rustled  into 
a  stiff,  scratchy,  French  print,  took  her  hair  out  of  the 
comfortable  net,  and  braided  it  carefully  up ;  then, 
instead  of  reading  in  her  arm-chair,  she  was  led  to 
the  parlor  and  set  to  learning  a  hard  piece  of 
music. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  75 

"  Can't  I  have  my  early  cup  of  tea  and  my  roll  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Eating  between  meals  is  a  very  bad  habit,  and  I 
can't  allow  it,"  said  Kitty,  in  the  tone  her  mother  often 
used  to  her.  "  I  shall  have  a  mug  of  new  milk  and 
a  roll,  because  grown  people  need  more  nourishment 
than  children;"  and  sitting  down,  she  ate  her  early 
lunch  with  a  relish,  while  poor  mamma  played  away, 
feeling  quite  out  of  tune  herself. 

Harry  found  papa  enjoying  the  last  delightful 
dose  that  makes  bed  so  fascinating  of  a  morning. 
As  if  half  afraid  to  try  the  experiment,  the  boy 
slowly  approached  and  gave  the  sleeper  a  sudden, 
hard  shake,  saying  briskly, — 

"  Come,  come,  come,  lazy-bones !   Get  up,  get  up ! " 

Papa  started  as  if  an  earthquake  had  roused  him, 
and  stared  at  Harry,  astonished  for  a  minute,  then 
he  remembered,  and  upset  Harry's  gravity  by  whin- 
ing out,  — 

"  Come,  you  let  me  alone.  It  isn't  time  yet,  and 
I  am  so  tired." 

Harry  took  the  joke,  and  assuming  the  stern  air 
of  his  father  on  such  occasions,  said  impressively,  — 


76  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  You  have  been  called,  and  now  if  you  are  not 
down  in  fifteen  minutes  you  won't  have  any  break- 
fast. Not  a  morsel,  sir,  not  a  morsel ; "  and,  coolly 
pocketing  his  father's  watch,  he  retired,  to  giggle  all 
the  way  downstairs. 

When  the  breakfast  bell  rang,  mamma  hurried 
into  the  dining-room,  longing  for  her  tea.  But 
Kitty  sat  behind  the  urn,  and  said  gravely, — 

"Go  back,  and  enter  the  room  properly.  Will 
you  never  learn  to  behave  like  a  lady?" 

Mamma  looked  impatient  at  the  delay,  and  having 
re-entered  in  her  most  elegant  manner,  sat  down, 
and  passed  her  plate  for  fresh  trout  and  muffins. 

"  No  fish  or  hot  bread  for  you,  my  dear.  Eat 
your  good  oatmeal  porridge  and  milk ;  that  is  the 
proper  food  for  children." 

"  Can't  I  have  some  tea  ? "  cried  mamma,  in  de- 
spair, for  without  it  she  felt  quite  lost. 

"  Certainly  not.  J  never  was  allowed  tea  when  a 
little  girl,  and  couldn't  think  of  giving  it  to  you," 
said  Kitty,  filling  a  large  cup  for  herself,  and  sipping 
the  forbidden  draught  with  a  relish. 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  77 

Poor  mamma  quite  groaned  at  this  hard  fate,  but 
meekly  obeyed,  and  ate  the  detested  porridge,  under- 
standing Kitty's  dislike  to  it  at  last. 

Harry,  sitting  in  his  father's  chair,  read  the  paper, 
and  ate  every  thing  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  with 
a  funny  assumption  of  his  father's  morning  manner. 
Aunt  Betsey  looked  on  much  amused,  and  now  and 
then  nodded  to  the  children  as  if  she  thought  things 
were  going  nicely. 

Breakfast  Avas  half  over  when  papa  came  in,  and 
was  about  to  take  Harry's  place,  when  his  son 
said,  trying  vainly  to  look  grave  as  he  showed  the 
watch,  — 

"  What  did  I  tell  you,  sir  ?  You  are  late  again, 
sir.  No  breakfast,  sir.  Fm  sorry,  but  this  habit 
must  be  broken  up.  Not  a  word;  it's  your  own 
fault,  and  you  must  bear  the  penalty." 

"  Come,  now,  that's  hard  on  a  fellow !  I'm  awful 
hungry.  Can't  I  have  just  a  bite  of  something?" 
asked  papa,  quite  taken  aback  at  this  stern  decree. 

"I  said  not  a  morsel,  and  I  shall  keep  my  word. 
Go  to  your  morning  duties,  and  let  this  be  a  lesson 
to  you." 


78  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Papa  cast  a  look  at  Aunt  Betsey,  that  was  both 
comic  and  pathetic,  and  departed  without  a  word ; 
but  he  felt  a  sudden  sympathy  with  his  son,  who 
had  often  been  sent  fasting  from  the  table  for  some 
small  offence. 

Now  it  was  that  he  appreciated  aunty's  kind 
heart,  and  felt  quite  fond  of  her,  for  in  a  few  min- 
utes she  came  to  him,  as  he  raked  the  gravel  walk 
(Harry's  duty  every  day),  and  slipping  a  nice,  warm, 
well-buttered  muffin  into  his  hand,  said,  in  her 
motherly  way, — 

"  My  dear,  do  try  and  please  your  father.  He  is 
right  about  late  rising,  but  I  can't  bear  to  see  you 
starve." 

"  Betsey,  you  are  an  angel ! "  and  turning  his  back 
to  the  house,  papa  bolted  the  muffin  with  grateful 
rapidity,  inquiring,  with  a  laugh,  "Do  you  think 
those  rogues  wift  keep  it  up  in  this  vigorous  style 
all  day?" 

"I  trust  so;  it  isn't  a  bit  overdone.  Hope  you 
like  it,"  and  Aunt  Betsey  walked  away,  looking 
as  if  she  enjoyed  it  extremely. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  79 

"Now  put  on  your  hat  and  draw  baby  up  and 
down  the  avenue  for  half  an  hour.  Don't  go  on  the 
grass  or  you  will  wet  your  feet ;  and  don't  play  with 
baby,  I  want  her  to  go  to  sleep ;  and  don't  talk  to 
papa  or  he  will  neglect  his  work,"  said  Kitty,  as 
they  rose  from  table. 

Now  it  was  a  warm  morning  and  baby  was  heavy 
and  the  avenue  was  dull,  and  mamma  much  pre- 
ferred to  stay  in  the  house  and  sew  the  trimming 
on  to  a  new  and  pretty  dress. 

"Must  I  really?  Kitty  you  are  a  hard-hearted 
mamma  to  make  me  do  it,"  and  Mrs.  Fairbairn 
hoped  her  play-parent  would  relent. 

But  she  did  not,  and  only  answered  with  a  mean- 
ing look,  — 

"  I  have  to  do  it  every  day  and  you  don't  let  me 
off." 

Mamma  said  no  more,  but  put  on  her  hat  and 
trundled  away  with  fretful  baby,  thinking  to  find 
her  fellow-sufferer  and  have  a  laugh  over  the  joke. 
She  was  disappointed,  however,  for  Harry  called 
papa  away  to  weed  the  lettuce-bed,  and  then  shut 


80  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

him  up  in  the  study  to  get  his  lessons,  while  he 
mounted  the  pony  and  trotted  away  to  town  to  buy 
a  new  fishing-rod  and  otherwise  enjoy  himself. 

When  mamma  came  in,  hot  and  tired,  she  was  met 
by  Kitty  with  a  bottle  in  one  hand  and  a  spoon  in 
the  other. 

"  Here  is  your  iron  mixture,  dear.  Now  take  it 
like  a  good  girl." 

"  I  won't ! "  and  mamma  looked  quite  stubborn. 

"Then  aunty  will  hold  your  hands  and  I  shall 
make  you." 

"But  I  don't  like  it;  I  don't  need  it,"  cried 
mamma. 

"  Neither  do  I,  but  you  give  it  to  me  all  the  same. 
I'm  sure  you  need  strengthening  more  than  I  do, 
you  have  so  many  '  trials,' "  and  Kitty  looked  very 
sly  as  she  quoted  one  of  the  wOrds  often  on  her 
mother's  lips. 

"  You'd  better  mind,  Carrie ;  it  can't  hurt  you, 
and  you  know  you  promised  entire  obedience.  Set 
a  good  example,"  said  aunty. 

"  But  I  never  thought  these  little  chits  would  do 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  81 

so  well.  Ugh,  how  disagreeable  it  is ! "  And 
mamma  took  her  dose  with  a  wry  face,  feeling  that 
Aunt  Betsey  was  siding  with  the  wrong  party. 

"  Now  sit  down  and  hem  these  towels  till  dinner- 
time. I  have  so  much  to  do  I  don't  know  which 
way  to  turn,"  continued  Kitty,  much  elated  with  her 
success. 

Rest  of  any  sort  was  welcome,  so  mamma  sewed 
busily  till  callers  came.  They  happened  to  be  some 
little  friends  of  Kitty's,  and  she  went  to  them  in  the 
parlor,  telling  mamma  to  go  up  to  nurse  and  have 
her  hair  brushed  and  her  dress  changed,  and  then 
come  and  see  the  guests.  While  she  was  away 
Kitty  told  the  girls  the  joke  they  were  having,  and 
begged  them  to  help  her  carry  it  out.  They  agreed, 
being  ready  for  fun  and  not  at  all  afraid  of  Mrs. 
Fairbairn.  So  when  she  came  in  they  all  began  to 
kiss  and  cuddle  and  praise  and  pass  her  round  as  if 
she  was  a  doll,  to  her  great  discomfort  and  the  great 
amusement  of  the  little  girls. 

While  this  was  going  on  in  the  drawing-room, 
Harry  was  tutoring  his  father  in  the  study,  and  put- 
6 


82  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

ting  that  poor  gentleman  through  a  course  of  ques- 
tions that  nearly  drove  him  distracted ;  for  Harry 
got  out  the  hardest  hooks  he  could  find,  and  selected 
the  most  puzzling  subjects.  A  dusty  old  history 
was  rummaged  out  also,  and  classical  researches  fol- 
lowed in  which  papa's  memoiy  played  him  false 
more  than  once,  calling  forth  rebukes  from  his  severe 
young  tutor.  But  he  came  to  open  disgrace  over 
his  mathematics,  for  he  had  no  head  for  figures,  and 
not  being  a  business  man,  had  not  troubled  himself 
about  the  matter,  so  Harry,  who  was  in  fine  practice, 
utterly  routed  him  in  mental  arithmetic  by  giving 
him  regular  puzzlers,  and  when  he  got  stuck  offered 
no  help,  but  shook  his  head  and  called  him  a  stupid 
fellow. 

The  dinner-bell  released  the  exhausted  student, 
and  he  gladly  took  his  son's  place,  looking  as  if  he 
had  been  hard  at  work.  He  was  faint  with  hunger, 
but  was  helped  last,  being  "  only  a  boy,"  and  then 
checked  every  five  minutes  for  eating  too  fast. 
Mamma  was  very  meek,  and  only  looked  wistfully  at 
the  pie  when  told  in  her  own  words  that  pastry  was 
bad  for  children. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  83 

Any  attempts  at  conversation  were  promptly 
quenched  by  the  worn-out  old  saying,  "  Children 
should  be  seen,  not  heard,"  while  Harry  and  Kitty 
chattered  all  dinner-time,  and  enjoyed  it  to  their 
heart's  content,  especially  the  frequent  pecks  at 
their  great  children,  who,  to  be  even  with  them, 
imitated  all  their  tricks  as  well  as  they  could. 

"  Don't  whistle  at  table,  papa ; "  "  keep  your  hands 
still,  mamma  ;  "  "  wait  till  you  are  helped,  sir ; " 
"tuck  your  napkin  well  in,  and  don't  spill  your 
soup,  Caroline." 

Aunt  Betsey  laughed  till  her  eyes  were  full,  and 
they  had  a  jolly  time,  though  the  little  people  had 
the  best  of  it,  for  the  others  obeyed  them  in  spite  of 
their  dislike  to  the  new  rules. 

"  Now  you  may  play  for  two  hours,"  was  the  gra- 
cious order  issued  as  they  rose  from  table. 

Mamma  fell  upon  a  sofa  exhausted,  and  papa  hur- 
ried to  read  his  paper  in  the  shady  garden. 

Usually  these  hours  of  apparent  freedom  were 
spoilt  by  constant  calls,  —  not  to  run,  not  to  play  this 
or  that,  or  frequent  calls  to  do  errands.     The  chil- 


84  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

dren  had  mercy,  however,  and  left  them  in  peace ; 
which  was  a  wise  move  on  the  whole,  for  the  poor 
souls  found  rest  so  agreeable  they  privately  resolved 
to  let  the  children  alone  in  their  play-hours. 

"  Can  I  go  over  and  see  Mr.  Hammond  ?  "  asked 
papa,  wishing  to  use  up  the  last  half-hour  of  his 
time  by  a  neighborly  call. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  like  Tommy  Hammond,  so  I  don't 
wish  you  to  play  with  his  father,"  said  Harry,  with 
a  sly  twinkle  of  the  eye,  as  he  turned  the  tables  on 
his  papa. 

Mr.  Fairbairn  gave  a  low  whistle  and  retired  to 
the  barn,  where  Harry  followed  him,  and  ordered 
the  man  to  harness  up  old  Bill. 

"  Going  to  drive,  sir  ?  "  asked  papa,  respectfully. 

"Don't  ask  questions,"  was  all  the  answer  he 
got. 

Old  Bill  was  put  into  the  best  buggy  and  driven 
to  the  hall  door.  Papa  followed,  and  mamma  sprang 
up  from  her  nap,  ready  for  her  afternoon  drive. 

"  Can't  I  go  ?  "  she  asked,  as  Kitty  came  down  in 
her  new  hat  and  gloves. 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  85 

a No ;  there  isn't  room." 

"  Why  not  have  the  carryall,  and  let  us  go,  too, 
we  like  it  so  much,"  said  papa,  in  the  pleading  tone 
Harry  often  used. 

Kitty  was  about  to  consent,  for  she  loved  mamma, 
and  found  it  hard  to  cross  her  so.  But  Harry  was 
made  of  sterner  stuff;  his  wrongs  still  burned  within 
him,  and  he  said  impatiently,  — 

"  We  can't  be  troubled  with  you.  The  buggy  is 
nicest  and  lightest,  and  we  want  to  talk  over  our 
affairs.  You,  my  son,  can  help  John  turn  the  hay 
on  the  lawn,  and  Caroline  can  amuse  baby,  or  help 
Jane  with  the  preserves.  Little  girls  should  be 
domestic." 

"  Oh,  thunder ! "  growled  papa. 

"  Aunt  Betsey  taught  you  that  speech,  you  saucy 
boy,"  cried  mamma,  as  the  children  drove  off  in  high 
glee,  leaving  their  parents  to  the  distasteful  tasks  set 
them. 

Mrs.  Fairbairn  wanted  to  read,  but  baby  was  fret- 
ful, and  there  was  no  Kitty  to  turn  him  over  to,  so 
she  spent  her  afternoon  amusing  the  small  tyrant, 
while  papa  made  hay  in  the  sun  and  didn't  like  it. 


86  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Just  at  tea-time  the  children  came  home,  full  of 
the  charms  of  their  drive,  but  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  tell  much  about  it  to  the  stay-at-home 
people.  Bread  and  milk  was  all  they  allowed  their 
victims,  while  they  revelled  in  marmalade  and  cake, 
fruit  and  tea. 

"  I  expect  company  this  evening,  but  I  don't  wish 
you  to  sit  up,  Caroline ;  you  are  too  young,  and  late 
hours  are  bad  for  your  eyes.  Go  to  bed,  and  don't 
forget  to  brush  your  hair  and  teeth  well,  five  min- 
utes for  each ;  cold  cream  your  hands,  fold  your  rib- 
bons, hang  up  yoxir  clothes,  put  out  your  boots  to  be 
cleaned,  and  put  in  the  mosquito  bars ;  I  will  come 
and  take  away  the  light  when  I  am  dressed." 

Kitty  delivered  this  dread  command  with  effect, 
for  she  had  heard  and  cried  over  it  too  often  not  to 
have  it  quite  by  heart. 

"  But  I  can't  go  to  bed  at  half-past  seven  o'clock 
of  a  summer  night !  I  'm  not  sleepy,  and  this  is  just 
the  pleasantest  time  of  the  whole  day,"  said  mamma, 
thinking  her  bargain  a  hard  one. 

"  Go  up  directly,  my  daughter,  and  don't  discuss 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  87 

the  matter ;  I  know  what  is  best  for  you,"  and  Kitty 
sent  social,  wide-awake  mamma  to  bed,  there  to 
lie  thinking  soberly  till  Mrs.  Kit  came  for  the 
lamp. 

""Have  you  had  a  happy  day,  love  ?  "she  asked, 
bending  over  the  pillow,  as  her  mother  used  to  do. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Then  it  was  your  own  fault,  my  child.  Obey 
your  parents  in  all  things,  and  you  will  be  both  good 
and  happy." 

"  That  depends  "  —  began  mamma,  but  stopped 
short,  remembering  that  to-morrow  she  would  be  on 
the  other  side,  and  any  thing  she  might  say  now 
would  be  quoted  against  her. 

But  Kitty  understood,  and  her  heart  melted  as 
she  hugged  her  mother  and  said  in  her  own  caress- 
ing way,  — 

"  Poor  little  mamma !  did  she  have  a  hard  time  ? 
and  didn't  she  like  being  a  good  girl  and  minding 
her  parents  ?  " 

Mamma  laughed  also,  and  held  Kitty  close,  but  all 
she  said  was,  — 


88  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  Good-night,  dear ;  don't  be  troubled  :  it  will  be 
all  right  to-morrow." 

"I  hope  so,"  and  with  a  hearty  kiss,  Kitty  went 
thoughtfully  downstairs  to  meet  several  little  friends 
whom  she  had  asked  to  spend  the  evening  with  her. 

As  the  ladies  left  the  room,  papa  leaned  back  and 
prepared  to  smoke  a  cigar,  feeling  that  he  needed 
the  comfort  of  it  after  this  trying  day.  But  Harry 
was  down  upon  him  at  once. 

"  A  very  bad  habit,  —  can't  allow  it.  Throw  that 
dirty  thing  away,  and  go  and  get  your  Latin  lesson 
for  to-morrow.  The  study  is  quiet,  and  we  want  this 
room." 

"But  I  am  tired.  I  can't  study  at  night.  Let 
me  off  till  to-morrow,  please,  sir!"  begged  papa 
who  had  not  looked  at  Latin  since  he  left  school. 

"  Not  a  word,  sir !  I  shall  listen  to  no  excuses,  and 
shall  not  let  you  neglect  your  education  on  any  ac- 
count," and  Harry  slapped  the  table  a  la  papa  in  the 
most  impressive  manner. 

Mr.  Fairbairn  went  away  into  the  dull  study  and 
made  believe  do  his  lesson,  but  he  really  smoked  and 
meditated. 


THE   CHILDREN'S  JOKE.  89 

The  young  folks  had  a  grand  revel,  and  kept  it  up 
till  ten  o'clock,  while  mamma  lay  awake,  longing  to 
go  down  and  see  what  they  were  about,  and  papa 
shortly  fell  asleep,  quite  exhausted  by  the  society  of 
a  Latin  Grammar. 

"Idle  boy,  is  this  the  way  you  study?"  said 
Harry,  audaciously  tweaking  him  by  the  ear. 

"  No,  it 's  the  way  you  do ; "  and  feeling  that  his  day 
of  bondage  was  over,  papa  cast  off  his  allegiance, 
tucked  a  child  under  each  arm,  and  marched  up- 
stairs with  them,  kicking  and  screaming.  Setting 
them  down  at  the  nursery  door,  he  said,  shaking  his 
finger  at  them  in  an  awful  manner,  — 

"  Wait  a  bit,  you  rascals,  and  see  what  you  will  get 
to-morrow." 

With  this  dark  threat  he  vanished  into  his  own 
room,  and  a  minute  after  a  great  burst  of  laughter 
set  their  fears  at  rest. 

"  It  was  a  fair  bargain,  so  I  'm  not  afraid,"  said 
Harry  stoutly. 

"  He  kissed  us  good-night  though  he  did  glower 
at  us,  so  I  guess  it  was  only  fun,"  added  Kitty. 


90 


AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


"  Hasn't  it  been  a  funny  day  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"Don't  think  I  quite  like  it,  every  thing  is  so 
turned  round,"  said  Kitty. 

"  Guess  they  didn't  like  it  very  well.  Hear  'em 
talking  in  there ; "  and  Harry  held  up  his  finger,  for  a 
steady  murmur  of  conversation  had  followed  the 
laughter  in  papa  and  mamma's  room. 

"I  wonder  if  our  joke  will  do  any  good?"  said 
Kitty  thoughtfully.  • 

"  Wait  and  see,"  answered  Aunt  Betsey,  popping 
her  night-capped  head  out  of  her  room  with  a  nod 
and  a  smile  that  sent  them  to  bed  full  of  hope  for 
the  future. 


DANDELION.  91 


DAKDELION". 

T^jOWN  by  the  sea  lived  Ben  the  fisherman,  with 
"^^^  his  wife,  and  little  son,  who  was  called  Dande- 
lion, because  he  wore  yellow  pinafores,  and  had 
curly,  yellow  hair,  that  covered  his  head  with  a 
golden  fuzz.  A  very  happy  family,  for  Ben  was 
kind  and  industrious,  Hetty,  his  wife,  a  cheerful, 
busy  creature,  and  Dandelion  the  jolliest  three-year- 
old  baby  who  ever  made  sand-pies  and  paddled  on 
the  beach. 

But  one  day  a  great  trouble  came  to  them.  Ben 
and  his  fellow-fishermen  sailed  blithely  away  as 
usual,  and  Hetty  watched  the  fleet  of  white-winged 
boats  out  of  the  bay,  thinking  how  pretty  they 
looked  with  the  sunshine  on  them ;  while  Dandelion 
stood  clapping  his  chubby  hands,  and  saying,  as  he 
always  did,  "  Daddy  tummin'  soon."  But  Daddy 
did  not  come  soon  that  time;   for  a  great   storm 


92  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

arose,  and  when  some  of  the  boats  came  scudding 
home  at  nightfall,  Ben's  was  not  among  them. 
All  night  the  gale  raged,  and  in  the  morning,  Ben's 
boat  lay  empty  and  broken  on  the  shore.  His  mates 
shook  their  heads  when  they  saw  the  wreck,  and 
drew  their  rough  hands  over  their  eyes;  for  Ben 
was  a  good  seaman,  and  they  knew  he  never  would 
desert  his  boat  alive.  They  looked  for  him  far  and 
wide,  but  could  hear  nothing  of  him,  and  felt  sure 
that  he  had  perished  in  the  storm.  They  tried  to 
comfort  poor  Hetty,  but  she  would  not  be  comforted. 
Her  heart  seemed  broken ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
her  baby,  her  neighbors  feared  that  she  would  have 
gone  to  join  Ben  in  his  grave  under  the  sea.  Dan- 
delion didn't  understand  why  every  one  was  so  sad, 
and  why  his  father  stayed  away  so  long;  but  he 
never  lost  his  cheerfulness,  never  gave  up  hoping,  or 
stopped  saying,  with  a  contented  smile,  "Daddy 
tummin'  soon."  The  sunshiny  little  face  was  Hetty's 
only  comfort.  The  sight  of  the  fuzzy  yellow  head, 
bobbing  round  the  house,  alone  made  it  endurable ; 
and  the  touch  of  the  loving  baby  hands  kept  her 


DANDELION.  93 

from  the  despair  which  made  her  long  to  end  her 
sorrow  in  the  sea. 

People  don't  believe  in  fairies  now-a-days ;  never- 
theless, good  spirits  still  exist,  and  help  us  in  our 
times  of  trouble,  better  even  than  the  little  people 
we  used  to  read  about.  One  of  these  household 
spirits  is  called  Love,  and  it  took  the  shape  of  Dan- 
delion, to  comfort  poor  Hetty.  Another  is  called 
Labor :  a  beautiful,  happy  spirit  this  is,  and  it  did  its 
part  so  well  that  there  was  little  time  for  bitter 
thoughts  or  vain  regrets ;  for  Hetty's  spinning-wheel 
must  go,  in  order  to  earn  bread  for  Dandelion,  whose 
mouth  was  always  ready  for  food,  like  a  hungry 
bird's.  Busily  hummed  the  wheel ;  and,  as  it  new, 
it  seemed  to  catch  an  echo  of  the  baby's  cheerful 
song,  saying,  over  and  over,  "Daddy  tummin'  soon," 
till  Hetty  stopped  crying  as  she  worked,  and  listened 
to  the  cheerful  whirr.  "  Yes,  I  shall  see  my  good 
Ben  again,  if  I  wait  patiently.  Baby  takes  comfort 
in  saying  that,  and  I  will,  too ;  though  the  poor  dear 
will  get  tired  of  it  soon,"  she  said. 

But  Dandelion  didn't  get  tired.    He  firmly  be- 


94  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

lieved  what  he  said,  and  nothing  could  change  his 
mind.  He  had  been  much  troubled  at  seeing  the 
boat  laid  up  on  the  beach,  all  broken  and  disman- 
tled, but  his  little  mind  couldn't  take  in  the  idea  of 
shipwreck  and  death ;  so,  after  thinking  it  over,  he 
decided  that  Daddy  was  waiting  somewhere  for  a 
new  boat  to  be  sent  to  bring  him  home.  This  idea 
was  so  strong  that  the  child  gathered  together  his 
store  of  toy-boats,  —  for  he  had  many,  as  they  were 
his  favorite  plaything,  —  and  launched  them,  one 
after  another,  telling  them  to  find  his  father,  and 
bring  him  home. 

As  Dandelion  was  not  allowed  to  play  on  the 
beach,  except  at  low  tide,  the  little  boats  sailed  safely 
away  on  the  receding  waves,  and  the  child  was  sure 
that  some  of  them  would  get  safely  into  the  distant 
port  where  Daddy  was  waiting.  All  the  boats  were 
launched  at  last,  all  sailed  bravely  away ;  but  none 
came  back,  and  little  Dandy  was  much  disappointed. 
He  babbled  about  it  to  himself;  told  the  peeps  and 
the  horse-shoes,  the  snails  and  the  lobsters,  of  his 
trouble ;   begged  the  gulls  to  fly  away  and  find 


DANDELION.  95 

Daddy ;  and  every  windy  night,  when  the  sea  dashed 
on  the  shore  and  the  shutters  rattled,  he  would  want 
the  lamp  put  in  the  window,  as  it  used  to  be  when 
they  expected  Ben,  and  tried  to  make  home  look 
cheerful,  even  before  he  got  there. 

Hetty  used  to  humor  the  child,  though  it  made 
her  heart  ache  to  know  that  the  light  shone  in  vain. 
At  such  times  Dandy  would  prance  about  the  room 
in  his  little  shirt,  and  talk  about  Daddy  as  happily 
as  if  long  months  had  not  passed  without  bringing 
him  back.  When  fairly  in  his  big,  old-fashioned 
cradle,  the  boy  would  lie,  looking  more  like  a  dande- 
lion than  ever,  in  his  yellow  flannel  night-gown, 
playing  with  his  toes,  or  rocking  himself  to  and  fro, 
calling  the  cradle  his  boat,  and  blithely  telling  his 
mother  that  he  was  sailing  "  far  way  to  find 
Daddy."  When  tired  of  play,  he  lay  still,  and  asked 
her  to  sing  to  him.  She  had  no  heart  for  the  gay 
old  sea-songs  she  used  to  sing  for  lullabies ;  so  she 
sung  hymns  in  her  soft,  motherly  voice,  till  the  blue 
eyes  closed  and  the  golden  head  lay  still,  looking  so 
pretty,  with  the  circle  of  bright  hair  above  the  rosy 


96  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

face.  "My  little  saint,"  Hetty  called  him;  and 
though  she  often  wept  sadly  as  she  watched  him, 
the  bitterness  of  her  grief  passed  away,  and  a  patient 
hope  came  to  her ;  for  the  child's  firm  faith  impressed 
her  deeply,  the  pious  music  of  the  sweet  old  hymns 
comforted  her  sore  heart,  and  daily  labor  kept  her 
cheerful,  in  spite  of  herself.  The  neighbors  won- 
dered at  the  change  that  came  over  her,  but  she 
could  not  explain  it;  and  no  one  knew  that  the 
three  good  spirits,  called  Love,  Labor,  and  Hope, 
were  working  their  pleasant  miracles. 

Six  long  months  went  by,  and  no  one  ever  thought 
of  seeing  Ben  again, — no  one  but  his  little  son,  who 
still  watched  for  him  here,  and  his  wife,  who  waited 
to  meet  him  hereafter. 

One  bright  spring  day  something  happened.  The 
house  was  as  tidy  as  ever;  the  wheel  hummed 
briskly  as  Hetty  sung  softly  to  herself  with  a  cheer- 
ful face,  though  there  were  white  hairs  among  the 
brown,  and  her  eyes  had  a  thoughtful,  absent  look 
at  times.  Dandelion,  more  chubby  and  cheery  than 
ever,  sat  at  her  feet,  with  the  sunshine  making  a 


DANDELION.  97 

golden  glory  of  his  yellow  hair,  as  he  tried  his  new 
hoat  in  the  tub  of  water  his  mother  kept  for  her 
little  sailor,  or  tugged  away  with  his  fat  fingers  at 
a  big  needle  which  he  was  trying  to  pull  through 
a  bit  of  cloth  intended  for  a  sail.  The  faithful  little 
soul  had  not  forgotten  his  father,  but  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  reason  his  boats  never  pros- 
pered was  because  they  hadn't  large  enough  sails ; 
so  he  was  intent  on  rigging  a  new  boat  lately  given 
him,  with  a  sail  that  could  not  fail  to  waft  Ben 
safely  home.  With  his  mouth  puckered  up,  his 
downy  eyebrows  knit,  and  both  hands  pulling  at  the 
big  needle,  he  was  so  wrapped  in  his  work  that  he  did 
not  mind  the  stopping  of  the  wheel  when  Hetty  fell 
into  a  reverie,  thinking  of  the  happy  time  when 
she  and  Ben  should  meet  again.  Sitting  so,  neither 
heard  a  step  come  softly  over  the  sand ;  neither 
saw  an  eager,  brown  face  peer  in  at  the  door;  and 
neither  knew,  for  a  minute,  that  Ben  was  watching 
them,  with  a  love  and  longing  in  his  heart  that 
made  him  tremble  like  a  woman. 
Dandelion  saw  him  first;  for,  as  he  pulled  the 
7 


98  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

thread  through  with  a  triumphant  jerk,  the  small 
sailmaker  lost  his  balance,  tumbled  over,  and  lay 
staring  up  at  the  tall  man  with  his  blue  eyes  so  wide 
open,  they  looked  as  if  they  would  never  shut  again. 
All  of  a  sudden,  he  shouted,  with  a  joyful  shout, 
"Daddy's  tummin'!"  and  the  next  instant,  van- 
ished, ship  and  all,  in  the  arms  of  the  man  who 
wore  the  rough  jacket.  Over  went  the  spinning- 
wheel,  as  Hetty  vanished  likewise ;  and  for  a  time 
there  was  nothing  but  sobbing  and  kissing,  cling- 
ing, and  thanking  Heaven  for  its  kindness  to  them. 
When  they  grew  quieter,  and  Ben  got  into  his  old 
chair,  with  his  wife  on  one  knee  and  his  boy  on  the 
other,  he  told  them  how  he  was  wrecked  in  the  gale, 
picked  up  by  an  outward-bound  ship,  and  only  able 
to  get  back  after  months  of  sickness  and  delay. 

"  My  boaty  fetched  him,"  said  Dandelion,  feeling 
that  every  thing  had  turned  out  just  as  he  expected. 

"So  it  did,  my  precious;  leastways,  your  faith 
helped,  I  haven't  a  doubt,"  cried  Hetty,  hugging  the 
curly-headed  prophet  close,  as  she  told  Ben  all  that 
had  happened. 


DANDELION.  99 

Ben  didn't  say  much,  but  a  few  great  tears  rolled 
down  the  rough  blue  jacket,  as  he  looked  from  the 
queer  sail  with  its  two  big  stitches  to  the  little  son, 
whose  love,  he  firmly  believed,  had  kept  him  safe 
through  many  dangers,  and  brought  him  home  at 
last. 

When  the  fine  new  boat  was  built,  no  one  thought 
it  strange  that  Ben  named  it  "  Dandelion ; "  no  one 
laughed  at  the  little  sail  which  always  hung  over 
the  fire-place  in  the  small  house;  and  long  years 
after,  when  Ben  was  an  old  man,  and  sat  by  the 
door  with  his  grandchildren  on  his  knee,  the  story 
which  always  pleased  them  best  was  that  which 
ended  with  the  funny  words,  "Daddy  tummin' 
soon." 


100  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


MADAM  CLUCK,  AND   HER  FAMILY. 

*  I  ^HERE  never  was  a  prouder  mamma  than 
Madam  Cluck  when  she  led  forth  her  family 
of  eight  downy  little  chicks.  Chanticleer,  Strut, 
Snowball,  Speckle,  Peep,  Peck,  Downy,  and  Blot 
were  their  names ;  and  no  sooner  were  they  out  of 
the  shell  than  they  began  to  chirp  and  scratch  as 
gayly  as  if  the  big  world  in  which  they  suddenly 
found  themselves  was  made  for  their  especial  benefit. 
It  was  a  fine  brood ;  but  poor  Madam  Cluck  had  bad 
lack  with  her  chicks,  for  they  were  her  first,  and  she 
didn't  know  how  to  manage  them.  Old  Aunt  Cockle- 
top  told  her  that  she  didn't,  and  predicted  that "  those 
poor  dears  would  come  to  bad  ends." 

Aunt  Cockletop  was  right,  as  you  will  see,  when 
I  have  told  the  sad  history  of  this  unfortunate 
family.  The  tragedy  began  with  Chanty,  who  was 
the  boldest  little  cockadoodle  who  ever  tried  to  crow. 


MADAM  CLUCK,  AND  HER  FAMILY.      101 

Before  he  had  a  feather  to  his  bit  of  a  tail,  Chanty 
began  to  fight,  and  soon  was  known  as  the  most 
quarrelsome  chick  in  the  farm-yard.  Having  picked 
his  brothers  and  sisters,  he  tried  to  do  the  same  to 
his  playmates,  the  ducklings,  goslings,  and  young 
turkeys,  and  was  so  disagreeable  that  all  the  fowls 
hated  him.  One  day,  a  pair  of  bantams  arrived,  — 
pretty  little  white  birds,  with  red  crests  and  nice 
yellow  feet.  Chanty  thought  he  could  beat  Mr. 
Bantam  easily,  he  was  so  small,  and  invited  him  to 
fight.  Mr.  B.  declined.  Then  Chanty  called  him  a 
coward,  and  gave  Mrs.  B.  a  peck,  which  so  enraged 
her  spouse  that  he  flew  at  Chanty  like  a  game-cock, 
and  a  dreadful  fight  followed,  which  ended  in  Chan- 
ty's utter  defeat,  for  he  died  from  his  wounds. 

Downy  and  Snowball  soon  followed ;  for  the  two 
sweet  little  things  would  swing  on  the  burdock-leaves 
1  that  gxew  over  the  brook.  Sitting  side  by  side,  the 
plump  sisters  were  placidly  swaying  up  and  down 
over  the  clear  brown  water  rippling  below,  when  — 
ah !  sad  to  relate  —  the  stem  broke,  and  down  went 
leaf,  chickens  and  all,  to  a  watery  death. 


102  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  I'm  the  most  unlucky  hen  ever  hatched!"  groaned 
poor  Madam  Cluck ;  and  it  did  seem  so,  for  the  very- 
next  week,  Speckle,  the  best  and  prettiest  of  the 
brood,  went  to  walk  with  Aunt  Cockletop,  "  grass- 
hoppering "  they  called  it,  in  the  great  field  across 
the  road.  What  a  nice  time  Speckle  did  have,  to  be 
sure ;  for  the  grasshoppers  were  lively  and  fat,  and 
aunt  was  in  an  unusually  amiable  mood. 

"  Never  run  away  from  any  thing,  but  face  danger 
and  conquer  it,  like  a  brave  chick,"  said  the  old 
biddy,  as  she  went  clucking  through  the  grass,  with 
her  gray  turban  wagging  in  the  wind.  Speckle  had 
hopped  away  from  a  toad  with  a  startled  chirp, 
which  caused  aunt  to  utter  that  remark.  The  words 
had  hardly  left  her  beak,  when  a  shadow  above 
made  her  look  up,  give  one  loud  croak  of  alarm,  and 
then  scuttle  away,  as  fast  as  legs  and  wings  could 
carry  her. 

Little  Speckle,  remembering  the  advice,  and  un- 
conscious of  the  danger,  stood  her  ground  as  a  great 
hawk  came  circling  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  with  a 
sudden  dart,  he  pounced  on  the  poor  chicken,  and 


MADAM  CLUCK,  AND  HER  FAMILY.      103 

bore  it  away  chirping  dismally,  "Aunty  told  me 
not  to  run.  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  What  shall  I 
do?" 

It  was  a  dreadful  blow  to  Mrs.  Cluck  ;  and  Aunt 
Cockletop  didn't  show  herself  for  a  whole  day  after 
that  story  was  known,  for  every  fowl  in  the  yard 
twitted  her  with  the  difference  between  her  preach- 
ing and  her  practice. 

Strut,  the  other  son,  was  the  vainest  chick  ever 
seen ;  and  the  great  aim  of  his  life  was  to  crow 
louder  than  any  other  cock  in  the  neighborhood. 
He  was  at  it  from  morning  till  night,  and  every  one 
was  tired  to  death  of  hearing  his  shrill,  small  voice 
making  funny  attempts  to  produce  hoarse  little  crows, 
as  he  sat  on  the  wall  and  stretched  his  yellow  neck, 
till  his  throat  quite  ached  with  the  effort. 

"Ah!  if  I  could  only  fly  to  the  highest  beam  in 
the  barn,  and  give  a  splendid  crow  that  every  one 
could  hear,  I  should  be  perfectly  happy,"  said  this 
silly  little  fowl,  as  he  stared  up  at  the  loft  where  the 
old  cock  often  sat. 

So  he  tried  every  day  to  fly  and  crow,  and  at  last 


104  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

managed  to  get  up ;  then  how  he  did  strut  and  rus- 
tle bis  feathers,  while  his  playmates  sat  below  and 
watched  him. 

"  You'll  fall  and  get  hurt,"  said  his  sister  Blot. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  ugly  little  thing,  and 
don't  talk  to  me.  I'm  going  to  crow,  and  can't  be 
interrupted  by  any  silly  bit  of  a  hen.  Be  quiet, 
down  there,  and  hear  if  I  can't  do  it  as  well  as 
daddy." 

The  chicks  stopped  scratching  and  peeping,  and 
sat  in  a  row  to  hear  Strut  crow.  Perching  himself 
on  the  beam,  he  tried  his  best,  but  only  a  droll 
"  cock-a-doodle-doo  "  came  of  it,  and  all  the  chicks 
laughed.  That  made  Strut  mad,  and  he  resolved  to 
crow,  even  if  he  killed  himself  doing  it.  He  gave 
an  angry  cluck,  flapped  his  wings,  and  tried  again. 
Alas,  alas,  for  poor  Strut !  he  leaned  so  far  forward 
in  his  frantic  effort  to  get  a  big  crow  out,  that  he 
toppled  over  and  fell  bump  on  the  hard  barn-floor, 
killing  himself  instantly. 

For  some  time  after  this,  Mrs.  Cluck  kept  her  three 
remaining  little  ones  close  to  her  side,  watching  over 


MADAM  CLUCK,  AND  HER  FAMILY.      105 

theni  with  maternal  care,  till  they  were  heartily  tired 
of  her  anxious  duckings.  Peep  and  Peck  were 
always  together,  being  very  fond  of  one  another. 
Peep  was  a  most  inquisitive  chicken,  poking  her 
head  into  every  nook  and  corner,  and  never  satisfied 
till  she  had  seen  all  there  was  to  see.  Peck  was  a 
glutton,  eating  every  thing  she  could  find,  and  often 
making  herself  ill  by  gobbling  too  fast,  and  forget- 
ting to  eat  a  little  gravel  to  help  digest  her  food. 

"  Don't  go  out  of  the  barn,  children.  I'm  going 
to  lay  an  egg,  and  can't  look  after  you  just  now," 
said  their  mother  one  day. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  chirped  the  chickens ;  and  then,  as 
she  went  rustling  into  the  hay-mow,  they  began  to 
run  about  and  enjoy  themselves  with  all  their  might. 
Peep  found  a  little  hole  into  -the  meal-room,  and 
slipped  in,  full  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  bags,  boxes, 
and  bins.  "Pll  eat  all  I  want,  and  then  Til  call 
Peck,"  she  said ;  and  having  taken  a  taste  of  every 
thing,  she  was  about  to  leave,  when  she  heard  the 
stable-man  coming,  and  in  her  fright  couldn't  find 
the  hole,  so  flew  into  the  meal-bin  and  hid  herself. 


106  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Sam  never  saw  her,  but  shut  down  the  cover  of  the 
bin  as  he  passed,  and  left  poor  Peep  to  die.  No  one 
knew  what  had  become  of  her  till  some  days  later, 
when  she  was  found  dead  in  the  meal,  with  her  poor 
little  claws  sticking  straight  up,  as  if  imploring  help. 
Peck,  meanwhile,  got  into  mischief  also ;  for,  in  her 
hunt  for  something  good  to  eat,  she  strayed  into  the 
sheep-shed,  and  finding  some  salt,  ate  as  much  as 
she  liked,  not  knowing  that  salt  is  bad  for  hens. 
Having  taken  all  she  wanted,  she  ran  back  to  the 
barn,  and  was  innocently  catching  gnats  when  her 
mamma  came  out  of  the  hay-mow,  with  a  loud 
"  Cut-cut-cut-ca-dar-cut ! " 

"  Where  is  Peep  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Cluck. 

"  Don't  know,  ma.  She  "  —  there  Peck  stopped 
suddenly,  rolled  up  her  eyes,  and  began  to  stagger 
about  as  if  she  was  tipsy. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  What's  the  matter  with  the 
chick  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Cluck,  in  great  alarm. 

"  Fits,  ma'am,"  answered  Doctor  Drake,  who  just 
then  waddled  by. 

"  Oh !  what  can  I  do  ?  "  screamed  the  distracted 
hen. 


MADAM  CLUCK,  AND  HER  FAMILY.      107 

"  Nothing,  ma'am ;  it's  fatal."  And  the  doctor 
waddled  on  to  visit  Dame  Partlet's  son,  who  was  ill 
of  the  pip. 

"  My  child,  my  child !  don't  flap  and  stagger  so ! 
Let  me  hold  you!  Taste  this  mint-leaf!  Have  a 
drop  of  water !    What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

As  poor  Mrs.  Cluck  sighed  and  sobbed,  her  un- 
happy child  went  scuffling  about  on  her  back,  gasp- 
ing and  rolling  up  her  eyes  in  great  anguish,  for  she 
had  eaten  too  much  of  the  fatal  salt,  and  there  was 
no  help  for  her.  When  all  was  over,  they  buried 
the  dead  chicken  under  a  currant-bush,  covered  the 
little  grave  with  chickweed,  and  the  bereaved  parent 
wore  a  black  string  round  her  leg  for  a  month. 

Blot,  "  the  last  of  that  bright  band,"  needed  no 
mourning,  for  she  was  as  black  as  a  crow.  This  was 
the  reason  why  her  mother  never  had  loved  her  as 
much  as  she  did  the  others,  who  were  all  white,  gray, 
or  yellow.  Poor  little  Blot  had  been  much  neglected 
by  every  one  ;  but  now  her  lonely  mamma  discov- 
ered how  good  and  affectionate  a  chicken  she  was, 
for  Blot  was  a  great  comfort  to  her,  never  running 


108  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

away  or  disobeying  in  any  way,  but  always  close  to 
her  side,  ready  to  creep  under  her  wing,  or  bring  her 
a  plump  bug  when  the  poor  biddy's  appetite  failed 
her.  They  were  very  happy  together  till  Thanks- 
giving drew  near,  when  a  dreadful  pestilence  seemed 
to  sweep  through  the  farm-yard ;  for  turkeys,  hens, 
ducks,  and  geese  fell  a  prey  to  it,  and  were  seen  by 
their  surviving  relatives,  featherless,  pale,  and  stiff, 
borne  away  to  some  unknown  place  whence  no  fowl 
returned.  Blot  was  waked  one  night  by  a  great 
cackling  and  fluttering  in  the  hen-house,  and  peeping 
down  from  her  perch,  saw  a  great  hand  glide  along 
the  roost,  clutch  her  beloved  mother  by  the  leg,  and 
pull  her  off,  screaming  dolefully,  "Good-by,  good- 
by,  my  darling  child ! " 

Aunt  Cockletop  pecked  and  croaked  fiercely ; 
but,  tough  as  she  was,  the  old  biddy  did  not  escape, 
and  many  another  amiable  hen  and  gallant  cocka- 
doodle  fell  a  victim  to  that  mysterious  hand.  In 
the  morning  few  remained,  and  Blot  felt  that  she 
was  a  forlorn  orphan,  a  thought  which  caused  her  to 
sit  with  her  head  under  her  wing  for  several  hours, 


MADAM  CLUCK,  AND  HER  FAMILY.      109 

brooding  over  her  sad  lot,  and  longing  to  join  her 
family  in  some  safe  and  happy  land,  where  fowls  live 
in  peace.  She  had  her  wish  very  soon,  for  one  day, 
when  the  first  snowflakes  began  to  flutter  out  of  the 
cold,  gray  sky,  Blot  saw  a  little  kitten  mewing  piti- 
fully as  it  sat  under  the  fence. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  asked  kind  Blot. 

"  I'm  lost,  and  I  can't  find  my  way  home,"  answered 
the  kitten,  shivering  with  cold.  "  I  live  at  the  red 
farm-house  over  the  hill,  only  I  don't  know  which 
road  to  take." 

"  I'll  show  you.  Come  at  once,  for  night  is 
coming  on,  and  the  snow  will  soon  be  too  deep  for 
us,"  said  Blot. 

So  away  they  went,  as  fast  as  their  small  legs 
could  carry  them ;  but  it  was  a  long  way,  and  dusk 
came  on  before  the  red  farm-house  appeared. 

"  Now  I'm  safe ;  thank  you  very  much.  Won't 
you  come  in,  and  stay  all  night  ?  My  mother  will 
be  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  kit,  rubbing  her  soft 
white  face  against  Blot's  little  black  breast. 

"  It's  against  the  rule  to  stay  out  all  night,  and  I 


110  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

promised  to  be  in  early ;  so,  good-by,  dear."  And 
off  trotted  Blot  along  the  snowy  road,  hoping  to  get 
home  before  the  hen-house  door  was  shut.  Faster 
and  faster  fell  the  snow,  darker  and  darker  grew  the 
night,  and  colder  and  colder  became  poor  Blot's 
little  feet  as  she  waded  through  the  drifts.  The 
firelight  was  shining  out  into  the  gloom,  as  the  half- 
frozen  chicken  came  into  the  yard,  to  find  all  doors 
shut,  and  no  shelter  left  for  her  but  the  bough  of  a 
leafless  tree.  Too  stiff  and  weak  to  fly  up,  she  crept 
as  close  as  possible  to  the  bright  glow  which  shone 
across  the  door-step,  and  with  a  shiver  put  her  little 
head  under  her  wing,  trying  to  forget  hunger,  weari- 
ness, and  the  bitter  cold,  and  wait  patiently  for 
morning.  But  when  morning  came,  little  Blot  lay 
frozen  stiff  under  a  coverlet  of  snow ;  and  the 
tender-hearted  children  sighed  as  they  dug  a  grave 
for  the  last  of  the  unfortunate  family  of  the  Clucks. 


A  CURIOUS  CALL.  Ill 


A  CURIOUS  CALL. 

T  HAVE  often  wondered  what  the  various  statues 
standing  about  the  city  think  of  all  day,  and 
what  criticisms  they  would  make  upon  us  and  our 
doings,  if  they  could  speak.  I  frequently  stop  and 
stare  at  them,  wondering  if  they  don't  feel  lonely ; 
if  they  wouldn't  be  glad  of  a  nod  as  wc  go  by ;  and 
I  always  long  to  offer  my  umbrella  to  shield  their 
uncovered  heads  on  a  rainy  day,  especially  to  good 
Ben  Franklin,  when  the  snow  lies  white  on  his 
benevolent  forehead.  I  was  always  fond  of  this  old 
gentleman ;  and  one  of  my  favorite  stories  when  a 
little  girl,  was  that  of  his  early  life,  and  the  time 
when  he  was  so  poor  he  walked  about  Philadelphia 
with  a  roll  of  bread  under  each  arm,  eating  a  third 
as  he  went.  I  never  pass  without  giving  him  a 
respectful  look,  and  wishing  he  could  know  how 
grateful  I  am  for  all  he  had  done  in  the  printing 


112  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

line;  for,  without  types  and  presses,  where  would 
the  books  be? 

Well,  I  never  imagined  that  he  understood  why 
the  tall  woman  in  the  big  bonnet  stared  at  him ;  but 
he  did,  and  he  liked  it,  and  managed  to  let  me  know 
it  in  a  very  curious  manner,  as  you  shall  hear. 

As  I  look  out,  the  first  thing  I  see  is  the  great  gilt 
eagle  on  the  City-Hall  dome.  There  he  sits,  with 
open  wings,  all  day  long,  looking  down  on  the  peo- 
ple, who  must  appear  like  ants  scampering  busily  to 
and  fro  about  an  ant-hill.  The  sun  shines  on  him 
splendidly  in  the  morning ;  the  gay  flag  waves  and 
rustles  in  the  wind  above  him  sometimes ;  and  the 
moonlight  turns  him  to  silver  when  she  comes  glit- 
tering up  the  sky.  When  it  rains,  he  never  shakes 
his  feathers ;  snow  beats  on  him  without  disturbing 
his  stately  repose ;  and  he  never  puts  his  head  under 
his  wing  at  night,  but  keeps  guard  in  darkness  as  in 
day,  like  a  faithful  sentinel.  I  like  the  big,  lonely 
bird,  call  him  my  particular  fowl,  and  often  wish 
he'd  turn  his  head  and  speak  to  me.  One  night  he 
did  actually  do  it,  or  seemed  to  ;  for  I've  never  been 


A   CURIOUS   CALL.  113 

able  to  decide  whether  I  dreamed  what  I'm  going 
to  tell  you,  or  whether  it  really  happened. 

It  was  a  stormy  night ;  and,  as  I  drew  down  my 
curtain,  I  said  to  myself,  after  peering  through  the 
driving  snow  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  my  neighbor, 
"  Poor  Goldy !  he'll  have  a  rough  time  of  it.  I  hope 
this  northeaster  won't  blow  him  off  his  perch." 
Then  I  sat  down  by  my  fire,  took  my  knitting,  and 
began  to  meditate.  I'm  sure  I  didn't  fall  asleep; 
but  I  can't  prove  it,  so  we'll  say  no  more  about 
it.  All  at  once  there  came  a  tap  at  my  door,  as  I 
thought ;  and  I  said  "  Come  in,"  just  as  Mr.  Poe  did 
when  that  unpleasant  raven  paid  him  a  call.  No 
one  came,  so  I  went  to  see  who  it  was.  Not  a  sign 
of  a  human  soul  in  the  long  hall,  only  little  Jessie, 
the  poodle,  asleep  on  her  mat.  Down  I  sat ;  but  in 
a  minute  the  tap  came  again ;  this  time  so  loud  that 
I  knew  it  was  at  the  window,  and  went  to  open  it, 
thinking  that  one  of  my  doves  wanted  to  come  in 
perhaps.  Up  went  the  sash,  and  in  bounced  some- 
thing so  big  and  so  bright  that  it  dazzled  and 
scared  me. 

8 


114  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  ma'am ;  it's  only  me,"  said 
a  hoarse  voice.  So  I  collected  my  wits,  rubbed  my 
eyes,  and  looked  at  my  visitor.  It  was  the  gold 
eagle  off  the  City  Hall !  I  don't  expect  to  be  be- 
lieved; but  I  wish  you'd  been  here  to  see,  for  I  give 
you  my  word,  it  was  a  sight  to  behold.  How  he 
ever  got  in  at  such  a  small  window  I  can't  tell ;  but 
there  he  was,  strutting  majestically  up  and  down 
the  room,  his  golden  plumage  rustling,  and  his  keen 
eyes  flashing  as  he  walked.  I  really  didn't  know 
what  to  do.  I  couldn't  imagine  what  he  came  for ; 
I  had  my  doubts  about  the  propriety  of  offering 
him  a  chair  r  and  he  was  so  much  bigger  than  I  ex- 
pected that  1  was  afraid  he  might  fly  away  with  me, 
as  the  roc  did  with  Sinbad ;  so  I  did  nothing  but 
sidle  to  the  door,  ready  to  whisk  out,  if  my  strange 
guest  appeared  to  be  peckishly  inclined.  My  re- 
spectful silence  seemed  to  suit  him ;  for,  after  a  turn 
or  two,  he  paused,  nodded  gravely,  and  said  affably, 
"Good-evening,  ma'am.  I  stepped  over  to  bring 
you  old  Ben's  respects,  and  to  see  how  you  were 
e;ettin2  on." 


A   CURIOUS   CALL.  H5 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged,  sir.  May  I  inquire  who 
Mr.  Old-Ben  is  ?  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  the  honor  of 
his  acquaintance." 

"Yes,  you  have;  it's  Ben  Franklin,  of  City-Hall 
yard.  You  know  him ;  and  he  wished  me  to  thank 
you  for  your  interest  in  him." 

"  Dear  me !  how  very  odd !  Will  you  sit  down, 
sir?" 

"  Never  sit !  I'll  perch  here ; "  and  the  great  fowl 
took  his  accustomed  attitude  just  in  front  of  the 
fire,  looking  so  very  splendid  that  I  couldn't  keep 
my  eyes  off  of  him. 

"Ah!  you  often  do  that.  Never  mind;  I  rather 
like  it,"  said  the  eagle,  graciously,  as  he  turned  his 
brilliant  eye  upon  me.  I  was  rather  abashed ;  but 
being  very  curious,  I  ventured  to  ask  a  few  ques- 
tions, as  he  seemed  in  a  friendly  mood. 

"  Being  a  woman,  sir,  I'm  naturally  of  an  inquir- 
ing turn ;  and  I  must  confess  that  I  have  a  strong 
desire  to  know  how  it  happens  that  you  take  your 
walks  abroad,  when  you  are  supposed  to  be  perma- 
nently engaged  at  home  ?  " 


116  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  actually  winked 
at  me,  as  he  replied,  "That's  all  people  know  of 
what  goes  on  under,  or  rather  over,  their  noses. 
Bless  you,  ma'am!  I  leave  my  roost  every  night, 
and  enjoy  myself  in  all  sorts  of  larks.  Excuse  the 
expression ;  but,  being  ornithological,  it  is  more 
proper  for  me  than  for  some  people  who  use  it." 

"  What  a  gay  old  bird ! "  thought  I,  feeling  quite 
at  home  after  that.  "  Please  tell  me  what  you  do, 
when  the  shades  of  evening  prevail,  and  you  go  out 
for  a  frolic  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  gentleman ;  therefore  I  behave  myself," 
returned  the  eagle,  with  a  stately  air.  "  I  must  con- 
fess, I  smoke  a  great  deal :  but  that's  not  my  fault, 
it's  the  fault  of  the  chimneys.  They  keep  it  up  all 
day,  and  I  have  to  take  it ;  just  as  you  poor  ladies 
have  to  take  cigar  smoke,  whether  you  like  it  or  not. 
My  amusements  are  of  a  wholesome  kind.  I  usually 
begin  by  taking  a  long  flight  down  the  harbor,  for 
a  look  at  the  lighthouses,  the  islands,  the  shipping, 
and  the  sea.  My  friends,  the  gulls,  bring  their  re- 
ports to  me ;  for  they  are  the  harbor-police,  and  I 


A   CURIOUS   CALL.  117 

take  notes  of  their  doings.  The  school-ship  is  an 
object  of  interest  to  me,  and  I  often  perch  on  the 
mast-head,  to  see  how  the  lads  are  getting  on. 
Then  I  take  a  turn  over  the  city,  gossip  with  the 
weathercocks,  pay  my  compliments  to  the  bells, 
inspect  the  fire-alarm,  and  pick  up  information  by 
listening  at  the  telegraph  wires.  People  often  talk 
about  'a  little  bird'  who  spreads  news;  but  they 
don't  know  how  that  figure  of  speech  originated. 
It  is  the  sparrows  sitting  on  the  wires,  who  receive 
the  electric  shock,  and,  being  hollow-boned,  the 
news  go  straight  to  their  heads;  they  then  fly 
about,  chirping  it  on  the  housetops,  and  the  air  car- 
ries it  everywhere.  That's  the  way  rumors  rise  and 
news  spread." 

"  If  you'll  allow,  I'll  make  a  note  of  that  inter- 
esting fact,"  said  I,  wondering  if  I  might  believe 
him.  He  appeared  to  fall  into  a  reverie,  while  I 
jotted  down  the  sparrow  story,  and  it  occurred  to 
me  that  perhaps  I  ought  to  offer  my  distinguished 
guest  some  refreshment  ;  but,  when  I  modestly 
alluded  to  it,  he  said,  with  an  aldermanic  air,  "  No, 
thank  you;   I've  just  dined  at  the  Parker  House." 


118  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Now,  I  really  could  not  swallow  that;  and  so 
plainly  betrayed  my  incredulity,  that  the  eagle  ex- 
plained. "  The  savory  smells  which  rise  to  my  nos- 
trils from  that  excellent  hotel,  with  an  occasional 
sniff  from  the  Tremont,  are  quite  sufficient  to  satisfy 
my  appetite ;  for,  having  no  stomach,  I  don't  need 
much  food,  and  I  drink  nothing  but  water." 

"  I  wish  others  would  follow  your  example  in  that 
latter  habit,"  said  I,  respectfully,  for  I  was  beginning 
to  see  that  there  was  something  in  my  bird,  though 
he  was  hollow.  "  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  if  the 
other  statues  in  the  city  fly  by  night  ?  " 

"  They  promenade  in  the  parks ;  and  occasionally 
have  social  gatherings,  when  they  discuss  politics, 
education,  medicine,  or  any  of  the  subjects  in  which 
they  are  interested.  Ah !  we  have  grand  times  when 
you  are  all  asleep.  It  quite  repays  me  for  being 
obliged  to  make  an  owl  of  myself." 

"  Do  the  statues  come  from  the  shops  to  these 
parties  ?  "  I  asked,  resolving  to  take  a  late  walk  the 
next  moonlight  night. 

"  Sometimes ;  but  they  get  lazy  and  delicate,  liv- 


A   CURIOUS  CALL.  119 

ing  in  close,  warm  j)laces.  We  laugh,  at  cold  and 
bad  weather,  and  are  so  strong  and  hearty  that  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  saw  Webster  and  Everett 
flying  round  the  Common  on  the  new-fashioned 
velocipedes,  for  they  believed  in  exercise.  Goethe 
and  Schiller  often  step  over  from  De  Vries's  win- 
dow, to  flirt  with  the  goddesses,  who  come  down 
from  their  niches  on  Horticultural  Hall.  Nice, 
robust  young  women  are  Pomona  and  Flora.  If 
your  niminy-piminy  girls  could  see  them  run,  they 
would  stop  tilting  through  the  streets,  and  learn  that 
the  true  Grecian  Bend  is  the  line  of  beauty  always 
found  in  straight  shoulders,  well-opened  chest,  and 
an  upright  figure,  firmly  planted  on  active  feet." 

"  In  your  rambles  don't  you  find  a  great  deal  of 
misery?"  said  I,  to  change  the  subject,  for  he  was 
evidently  old-fashioned  in  his  notions.    . 

"  Many  sad  sights  ! "  And  he  shook  his  head  with 
a  sigh ;  then  added,  briskly,  "  But  there  is  a  deal  of 
charity  in  our  city,  and  it  does  its  work  beautifully. 
By  the  by,  I  heard  of  a  very  sweet  charity  the  other 
day,  —  a  church  whose  Sunday  school  is  open  to  all 


120  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

the  poor  children  who  will  come;  and  there,  in 
pleasant  rooms,  with  books,  pictures,  kindly  teachers, 
and  a  fatherly  minister  to  welcome  them,  the  poor 
little  creatures  find  refreshment  for  their  hungry 
souls.  I  like  that ;  it's  a  lovely  illustration  of  the 
text, '  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me ; '  and  I 
call  it  practical  Christianity." 

He  did  like  it,  my  benevolent  old  bird;  for  he 
rustled  his  great  wings,  as  if  he  wanted  to  clap 
them,  if  there  had  only  been  room;  and  every 
feather  shone  as  if  a  clearer  light  than  that  of  my 
little  fire  had  fallen  on  it  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  are  a  literary  woman,  hey  ? "  he  said  sud- 
denly, as  if  he'd  got  a  new  idea,  and  was  going  to 
pounce  upon  me  with  it. 

"  Ahem !  I  do  a  little  in  that  line,"  I  answered, 
with  a  modest  cough. 

"Then  tell  people  about  that  place;  write  some 
stories  for  the  children ;  go  and  help  teach  them ;  do 
something,  and  make  others  do  what  they  can  to 
increase  the  Sabbath  sunshine  that  brightens  one 
day  in  the  week  for  the  poor  babies  who  live  in 
shady  places." 


A   CURIOUS   CALL.  121 

"I  should  be  glad  to  do  my  best;  and,  if  I'd 
known  before  "  —  I  began. 

"You  migbt  have  known,  if  you'd  looked  about 
you.  People  are  so  wrapped  up  in  their  own  affairs 
they  don't  do  half  they  might.  Now,  then,  hand  me 
a  bit  of  paper,  and  I'll  give  you  the  address,  so  you 
won't  have  any  excuse  for  forgetting  what  I  tell 
you." 

"  Mercy  on  us !  what  will  he  do  next  ?  "  thought 
I,  as  he  tweaked  a  feather  out  of  his  breast,  gave  the 
nib  a  peck,  and  then  coolly  wrote  these  words  on 
the  card  I  handed  him :  "  Church  of  the  Disciples, 
luiock,  and  it  shall  be  opened!'"  There  it  was,  in 
letters  of  gold ;  and,  while  I  looked  at  it,  feeling 
reproached  that  I  hadn't  known  it  sooner,  my  friend, 
—  he  didn't  seem  a  stranger  any  more,  —  said  in  a 
business-like  tone,  as  he  put  back  his  pen,  "  Now  I 
must  be  off.  Old  Ben  reads  an  article  on  the  '  Abuses 
of  the  Press  at  the  present  day,'  and  I  must  be  there 
to  report." 

"  It  must  be  very  interesting.  I  suppose  you  don't 
allow  mortals  at  your  meetings  ?  "  said  I,  burning  to 
go,  in  spite  of  the  storm. 


122  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  No,  ma'am.  We  meet  on  the  Common ;  and,  in 
the  present  state  of  the  weather,  I  don't  thing  flesh 
and  blood  would  stand  it.  Bronze,  marble,  and 
wood,  are  sterner  stuff,  and  can  defy  the  elements." 

"Good  evening;  pray,  call  again,"  I  said,  hos- 
pitably. 

"I  will;  your  eyrie  suits  me;  but  don't  expect 
me  to  call  in  the  daytime.  I'm  on  duty  then,  and 
can't  take  my  eye  off  my  charge.  The  city  needs  a 
deal  of  watching,  my  dear.  Bless  me !  it's  striking 
eight.  Your  watch  is  seven  minutes  slow  by  the 
Old  South.     Good-night,  good-night ! " 

And  as  I  opened  the  window,  the  great  bird  soared 
away  like  a  flash  of  light  through  the  storm,  leaving 
me  so  astonished  at  the  whole  performance  that  I 
haven't  got  over  it  yet. 


TILLY'S  CHRISTMAS.  123 


TILLY'S  CHRISTMAS. 

"  T'M  so  glad  to-morrow  is  Christmas,  because  I'm 
going  to  have  lots  of  presents." 

"  So  am  I  glad,  though  I  don't  expect  any  pres- 
ents but  a  pair  of  mittens." 

"  And  so  am  I ;  but  I  shan't  have  any  presents  at 
all." 

As  the  three  little  girls  trudged  home  from  school 
they  said  these  things,  and  as  Tilly  spoke,  both  the 
others  looked  at  her  with  pity  and  some  surprise, 
for  she  spoke  cheerfully,  and  they  wondered  how 
she  could  be  happy  when  she  was  so  poor  she  could 
have  no  presents  on  Christmas. 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  could  find  a  purse  full  of 
money  right  here  in  the  path?"  said  Kate,  the  child 
who  was  going  to  have  "  lots  of  presents." 

"  Oh,  don't  I,  if  I  could  keep  it  honestly ! "  and 
Tilly's  eyes  shone  at  the  very  thought. 


124  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"What  would  you  buy?"  asked  Bessy,  rubbing 
her  cold  hands,  and  longing  for  her  mittens. 

"  I'd  buy  a  pair  of  large,  warm  blankets,  a  load 
of  wood,  a  shawl  for  mother,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  for 
me ;  and  if  there  was  enough  left,  I'd  give  Bessy  a 
new  hat,  and  then  she  needn't  wear  Ben's  old  felt 
one,"  answered  Tilly. 

The  girls  laughed  at  that ;  but  Bessy  pulled  the 
funny  hat  over  her  ears,  and  said  she  was  much 
obliged,  but  she'd  rather  have  candy. 

"Let's  look,  and  may  be  we  can  find  a  purse. 
People  are  always  going  about  with  money  at  Christ- 
mas time,  and  some  one  may  lose  it  here,"  said  Kate. 

So,  as  they  went  along  the  snowy  road,  they 
looked  about  them,  half  in  earnest,  half  in  fun. 
Suddenly  Tilly  sprang  forward,  exclaiming,-. 

"  I  see  it !  I've  found  it ! " 

The  others  followed,  but  all  stopped  disappointed ; 
for  it  wasn't  a  purse,  it  was  only  a  little  bird.  It 
lay  upon  the  snow  with  its  wings  spread  and  feebly 
fluttering,  as  if  too  weak  to  fly.  Its  little  feet  were 
benumbed  with  cold ;  its  once  bright  eyes  were  dull 


TILLY'S  CHRISTMAS.  125 

with  pain,  and  instead  of  a  blithe  song,  it  could  only 
utter  a  faint  chirp,  now  and  then,  as  if  crying  for 
help. 

"  Nothing  but  a  stupid  old  robin ;  how  provok- 
ing !  "  cried  Kate,  sitting  down  to  rest. 

"I  shan't  touch  it.  I  found  one  once,  and  took 
care  of  it,  and  the  ungrateful  thing  flew  away  the 
minute  it  was  well,"  said  Bessy,  creeping  under 
Kate's  shawl,  and  putting  her  hands  under  her  chin 
to  warm  them. 

"  Poor  little  birdie  !  How  pitiful  he  looks,  and 
how  glad  he  must  be  to  see  some  one  coming  to 
help  him!  I'll  take  him  up  gently,  and  carry  him 
home  to  mother.  Don't  be  frightened,  dear,  I'm 
your  friend;"  and  Tilly  knelt  down  in  the  snow, 
stretching  her  hand  to  the  bird  with  the  tenderest 
pity  in  her  face. 

Kate  and  Bessy  laughed. 

"  Don't  stop  for  that  thing ;  it's  getting  late  and 
cold :  let's  go  on  and  look  for  the  purse,"  they  said, 
moving  away. 

"  You  wouldn't  leave   it   to   die ! "    cried   Tilly. 


126  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"I'd  rather  have  the  bird  than  the  money,  so  I 
shan't  look  any  more.  The  purse  wouldn't  be  mine, 
and  I  should  only  be  tempted  to  keep  it ;  but  this 
poor  thing  will  thank  and  love  me,  and  I'm  so  glad 
I  came  in  time." 

Gently  lifting  the  bird,.  Tilly  felt  its  tiny  cold 
claws  cling  to  her  hand,  and  saw  its  dim  eyes 
brighten  as  it  nestled  down  with  a  grateful  chirp. 

"  Now  I've  got  a  Christmas  present  after  all,"  she 
said,  smiling,  as  they  walked  on.  "  I  always  wanted 
a  bird,  and  this  one  will  be  such  a  pretty  pet 
for  me." 

"He'll  fly  away  the  first  chance  he  gets,  and  die 
anyhow ;  so  you'd  better  not  waste  your  time  over 
him,"  said  Bessy. 

"  He  can't  pay  you  for  taking  care  of  him,  and 
my  mother  says  it  isn't  worth  while  to  help  folks 
that  can't  help  us,"  added  Kate. 

"  My  mother  says,  '  Do  as  you'd  be  done  by ; '  and 
I'm  sure  I'd  like  any  one  to  help  me  if  I  was  dying 
of  cold  and  hunger.  '  Love  your  neighbor  as  your- 
self,' is  another  of  her  sayings.     This  bird  is  my 


TILLY'S  CHRISTMAS.  127 

little  neighbor,  and  I'll  love  him  and  care  for  him, 
as  I  often  wish  our  rich  neighbor  would  love  and 
care  for  us,"  answered  Tilly,  breathing  her  warm 
breath  over  the  benumbed  bird,  who  looked  up  at 
her  with  confiding  eyes,  quick  to  feel  and  know  a 
friend. 

"  What  a  funny  girl  you  are,"  said  Kate ;  "  caring 
for  that  silly  bird,  and  talking  about  loving  your 
neighbor  in  that  sober  way.  Mr.  King  don't  care 
a  bit  for  you,  and  never  will,  though  he  knows  how 
poor  you  are ;  so  I  don't  think  your  plan  amounts  to 
much." 

"  I  believe  it,  though ;  and  shall  do  my  part, 
any  way.  Good-night.  I  hope  you'll  have  a  merry 
Christinas,  and  lots  of  pretty  things,"  answered 
Tilly,  as  they  parted.. 

Her  eyes  were  full,  and  she  felt  so  poor  as  she 
went  on  alone  toward  the  little  old  house  where 
she  lived.  It  would  have  been  so  pleasant  to  know 
that  she  was  going  to  have  some  of  the  pretty  things 
all  children  love  to  find  in  their  full  stockings  on 
Christmas  morning.     And  pleasanter  still  to  have 


128  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

been  able  to  give  her  mother  something  nice.  So 
many  comforts  were  needed,  and  there  was  no  hope 
of  getting  them ;  for  they  could  barely  get  food  and 
fire. 

" Never  mind,  birdie,  we'll  make  the  best  of  what 
we  have,  and  be  merry  in  spite  of  every  thing.  You 
shall  have  a  happy  Christmas,  any  way ;  and  I  know 
God  won't  forget  us,  if  every  one  else  does." 

She  stopped  a  minute  to  wipe  her  eyes,  and  lean 
her  cheek  against  the  bird's  soft  breast,  finding  great 
comfort  in  the  little  creature,  though  it  could  only 
love  her,  nothing  more. 

"  See,  mother,  what  a  nice  present  I've  found," 
she  cried,  going  in  with  a  cheery  face  that  was  like 
sunshine  in  the  dark  room. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  dearie ;  for  I  haven't  been  able 
to  get  my  little  girl  any  thing  but  a  rosy  apple. 
Poor  bird!  Give  it  some  of  your  warm  bread  and 
milk." 

"Why,  mother,  what  a  big  bowlful!  I'm  afraid 
you  gave  me  all  the  milk,"  said  Tilly,  smiling  over 
the  nice,  steaming  supper  that  stood  ready  for  her. 


TILLTS  CHRISTMAS.  129 

"I've  had  plenty,  dear.  Sit  down  and  dry  your 
wet  feet,  and  put  the  bird  in  my  basket  on  this 
warm  flannel." 

Tilly  peeped  into  the  closet  and  saw  nothing 
there  but  dry  bread. 

"Mother's  given  me  all  the  milk,  and  is  going 
without  her  tea,  'cause  she  knows  I'm  hungry.  Now 
I'll  surprise  her,  and  she  shall  have  a  good  supper 
too.  She  is  going  to  split  wood,  and  I'll  fix  it  while 
she's  gone." 

So  Tilly  put  down  the  old  tea-pot,  carefully 
poured  out  a  part  of  the  milk,  and  from  her  pocket 
produced  a  great,  plummy  bun,  that  one  of  the 
school-children  had  given  her,  and  she  had  saved 
for  her  mother.  A  slice  of  the  dry  bread  was  nicely 
toasted,  and  the  bit  of  butter  set  by  for  her  put  on 
it.  When  her  mother  came  in  there  was  the  table 
drawn  up  in  a  warm  place,  a  hot  cup  of  tea  ready, 
and  Tilly  and  birdie  waiting  for  her. 

Such  a  poor  little  supper,  and  yet  such  a  happy 
one ;  for  love,  charity,  and  contentment  were  guests 
there,  and  that  Christmas  eve  was  a  blither  one 
9 


130  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

than  that  up  at  the  great  house,  where  lights  shone, 
fires  blazed,  "a  great  tree  glittered,  and  music 
sounded,  as  the  children  danced  and  played. 

"  We  must  go  to  bed  early,  for  we've  only  wood 
enough  to  last  over  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  paid  for 
my  work  the  day  after,  and  then  we  can  get  some," 
said  Tilly's  mother,  as  they  sat  by  the  fire. 

"If  my  bird  was  only  a  fairy  bird,  and  would 
give  us  three  wishes,  how  nice  it  would  be !  Poor 
dear,  he  can't  give  me  any  thing ;  but  it's  no  mat- 
ter," answered  Tilly,  looking  at  the  robin,  who  lay 
in  the  basket  with  his  head  under  his  wing,  a  mere 
little  feathery  bunch. 

"He  can  give  you  one  thing,  Tilly, — the  pleasure 
of  doing  good.  That  is  one  of  the  sweetest  things 
in  life;  and  the  poor  can  enjoy  it  as  well  as  the 
rich." 

As  her  mother  spoke,  with  her  tired  hand  softly 
stroking  her  little  daughter's  hair,  Tilly  suddenly 
started  and  pointed  to  the  window,  saying,  in  a 
frightened  whisper, — 

"  I  saw  a  face,  —  a  man's  face,  looking  in !  It's 
gone  now ;  but  I  truly  saw  it." 


TILLY'S  CHRISTMAS.  131 

"  Some  traveller  attracted  by  the  light  perhaps. 
I'll  go  and  see."  And  Tilly's  mother  went  to  the 
door. 

No  one  was  there.  The  wind  blew  cold,  the  stars 
shone,  the  snow  lay  white  on  field  and  wood,  and 
the  Christmas  moon  was  glittering  in  the  sky.- 

"What  sort  of  a  face  was  it?"  asked  Tilly's 
mother,  coming  back. 

"  A  pleasant  sort  of  face,  I  think ;  but  I  was  so 
startled  I  don't  quite  know  what  it  was  like.  I 
wish  we  had  a  curtain  there,"  said  Tilly. 

"  I  like  to  have  our  light  shine  out  in  the  evening, 
for  the  road  is  dark  and  lonely  just  here,  and  the 
twinkle  of  our  lamp  is  pleasant  to  people's  eyes  as 
they  go  by.  We  can  do  so  little  for  our  neighbors, 
I  am  glad  to  cheer  the  way  for  them.  Now  put 
these  poor  old  shoes  to  dry,  and  go  to  bed,  dearie ; 
I'll  come  soon." 

Tilly  went,  taking  her  bird  with  her  to  sleep  in  his 
basket  near  by,  lest  he  should  be  lonely  in  the  night. 

Soon  the  little  house  was  dark  and  still,  and  no 
one  saw  the  Christmas  spirits  at  their  work  that  night. 


132  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

When  Tilly  opened  the  door  next  morning,  she 
gave  a  loud  cry,  clapped  her  hands,  and  then  stood 
still,  quite  speechless  with  wonder  and  delight. 
There,  before  the  door,  lay  a  great  pile  of  wood,  all 
ready  to  burn,  a  big  bundle  and  a  basket,  with  a 
lovely  nosegay  of  winter  roses,  holly,  and  evergreen 
tied  to  the  handle. 

"  Oh,  mother !  did  the  fairies  do  it  ?  "  cried  Tilly, 
pale  with  her  happiness,  as  she  seized  the  basket, 
while  her  mother  took  in  the  bundle. 

"  Yes,  dear,  the  best  and  dearest  fairy  in  the  world, 
called  '  Charity.'  She  walks  abroad  at  Christmas 
time,  does  beautiful  deeds  like  this,  and  does  not 
stay  to  be  thanked,"  answered  her  mother  with  full 
eyes,  as  she  undid  the  parcel. 

There  they  were,  —  the  warm,  thick  blankets,  the 
comfortable  shawl,  the  new  shoes,  and,  best  of  all,  a 
pretty  winter  hat  for  Bessy.  The  basket  was  full  of 
good  things  to  eat,  and  on  the  flowers  lay  a  paper 
saying,  — 

"  For  the  little  girl  who  loves  her  neighbor  as 
herself." 


TILLYS  CHRISTMAS.  133 

"  Mother,  I  really  think  my  bird  is  a  fairy  bird, 
and  all  these  splendid  things  come  from  him,"  said 
Tilly,  laughing  and  crying  with  joy. 

It  really  did  seem  so,  for  as  she  spoke,  the  robin 
flew  to  the  table,  hopped  to  the  nosegay,  and  perch- 
ing among  the  roses,  began  to  chirp  with  all  his  little 
might.  The  sun  streamed  in  on  flowers,  bird,  and 
happy  child,  and  no  one  ^aw  a  shadow  glide  away 
from  the  window ;  no  one  ever  knew  that  Mr.  King 
had  seen  and  heard  the  little  girls  the  night  before, 
or  dreamed  that  the  rich  neighbor  had  learned  a 
lesson  from  the  poor  neighbor. 

And  Tilly's  bird. was  a  fairy  bird;  for  by  her  love 
and  tenderness  to  the  helpless  thing,  she  brought 
good  gifts  to  herself,  happiness  to  the  unknown 
giver  of  them,  and  a  faithful  little  friend  who  did 
not  fly  awa*y,  but  stayed  with  her  till  the  snow  was 
gone,  making  summer  for  her  in  the  winter-time. 


134  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


MY  LITTLE  GENTLEMAN. 

"XTO  one  would  have  thought  of  calling  him  so, 
X  ™  this  ragged,  barefooted,  freckle-faced  Jack, 
who  spent  his  days  carrying  market-baskets  for  the 
butcher,  or  clean  clothes  for  Mrs.  Quinn,  selling 
chips,  or  grubbing  in  the  ash-heaps  for  cinders.  But 
he  was  honestly  earning  his  living,  doing  his  duty  as 
well  as  he  knew  how,  and  serving  those  poorer  and 
more  helpless  than  himself,  and  that  is  being  a  gen- 
tleman in  the  best  sense  of  that  fine  old  word.  He 
had  no  home  but  Mrs.  Quinn's  garret ;  and  for  this  he 
paid  by  carrying  the  bundles  and  getting  the  cinders 
for  her  fire.  Food  and  clothes  he  picked  up  as  he 
could ;  and  his  only  friend  was  little  Nanny.  Her 
mother  had  been  kind  to  him  when  the  death  of 
his  father  left  him  all  alone  in  the  world ;  and  when 
she,  too,  passed  away,  the  boy  tried  to  show  his 
gratitude  by  comforting  the  little  girl,  who  thought 
there  was  no  one  in  the  world  like  her  Jack. 


MY  LITTLE   GENTLEMAN.  135 

Old  Mrs.  Quinn  took  care  of  her,  waiting  till  she 
was  strong  enough  to  work  for  herself;  but  Nanny 
had  been  sick,  and  still  sat  about,  a  pale,  little  shadow 
of  her  former  self,  with  a  white  film  slowly  coming 
over  her  pretty  blue  eyes.  This  was  Jack's  great 
trouble,  and  he  couldn't  whistle  it  away  as  he  did 
his  own  worries ;  for  he  was  a  cheery  lad,  and  when 
the  baskets  were  heavy,  the  way  long,  the  weather 
bitter  cold,  his  poor  clothes  in  rags,  or  his  stomach 
empty,  he  just  whistled,  and  somehow  things  seemed 
to  get  right.  But  the  day  he  carried  Nanny  the  first 
dandelions,  and  she  felt  of  them,  instead  of  looking 
at  them,  as  she  said,  with  such  pathetic  patience  in 
her  little  face,  "  I  don't  see  'em ;  but  I  know  they're 
pretty,  and  I  like  'em  lots,"  Jack  felt  as  if  the  blithe 
spring  sunshine  was  all  spoiled ;  and  when  he  tried  to 
cheer  himself  up  with  a  good  whistle,  his  lips  trem- 
bled so  they  wouldn't  pucker. 

"  The  poor  dear's  eyes  could  be  cured,  I  ain't  a 
doubt ;  but  it  would  take  a  sight  of  money,  and 
who's  agoing  to  pay  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Quinn,  scrubbing 
away  at  her  tub. 


136  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  How  much  money  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"A  hundred  dollars,  I  dare  say.  Dr.  Wilkinson's 
cook  told  me  once  that  he  done  something  to  a 
lady's  eyes,  and  asked  a  thousand  dollars  for  it." 

Jack  sighed  a  long,  hopeless  sigh,  and  went  away 
to  fill  the  water-pails ;  hut  he  remembered  the  doc- 
tor's name,  and  began  to  wonder  how  many  years  it 
would  take  to  earn  a  hundred  dollai-s. 

Nanny  was  very  patient;  but,  by  and  by,  Mrs. 
Quinn  began  to  talk  about  sending  her  to  some 
almshouse,  for  she  was  too  poor  to  be  burdened  with 
a  helpless  child.  The  fear  of  this  nearly  broke 
Jack's  heart ;  and  he  went  about  with  such  an 
anxious  face  that  it  was  a  mercy  Nanny  did  not  see 
it.  Jack  was  only  twelve,  but  he  had  a  hard  load  to 
carry  just  then ;  for  the  thought  of  his  little  friend, 
doomed  to  lifelong  darkness  for  want  of  a  little 
money,  tempted  him  to  steal  more  than  once,  and 
gave  him  the  first  fierce,  bitter  feeling  against  those 
better  off  than  he.  When  he  carried  nice  dinners  to 
the  great  houses  and  saw  the  plenty  that  prevailed 
there,  he  couldn't  help  feeling  that  it  wasn't  fair  for 


MY  LITTLE  GENTLEMAN.  137 

some  to  have  so  much,  and  others  so  little.  When 
he  saw  pretty  children  playing  in  the  park,  or  driv- 
ing with  their  mothers,  so  gay,  so  well  cared  for,  so 
tenderly  loved,  the  poor  boy's  eyes  would  fill  to 
think  of  poor  little  Nanny,  with  no  friend  in  the 
world  but  himself,  and  he  so  powerless  to  help  her. 

When  he  one  day  mustered  courage  to  ring  at 
the  great  doctor's  bell,  begging  to  see  him  a  minute, 
and  the  servant  answered,  gruffly,  as  he  shut  the 
door,  "  Go  along !  he  can't  be  bothered  with  the  like 
of  you ! "  Jack  clenched  his  hands  hard  as  he  went 
down  the  steps,  and  said  to  himself,  with  a  most  un- 
boyish  tone,  "  I'll  get  the  money  somehow,  and  make 
him  let  me  in  ! " 

He  did  get  it,  and  in  a  most  unexpected  way ;  but 
he  never  forgot  the  desperate  feeling  that  came  to 
him  that  day,  and  all  his  life  long  he  was  very 
tender  to  people  who  were  tempted  in  their  times 
of  trouble,  and  yielded,  as  he  was  saved  from  doing, 
by  what  seemed  an  accident. 

Some  days  after  his  attempt  at  the  doctor's,  as  he 
was  grubbing  in  a  newly-deposited  ash-heap,  with 


138  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

the  bitter  feeling  very  bad,  and  the  trouble  very 
heavy,  he  found  a  dirty  old  pocket-book,  and  put  it 
in  his  bosom  without  stopping  to  examine  it;  for 
many  boys  and  girls  were  scratching,  like  a  brood 
of  chickens,  all  round  him,  and  the  pickings  were 
unusually  good,  so  no  time  must  be  lost.  "  Findings 
is  havings "  was  one  of  the  laws  of  the  ash-heap 
haunters ;  and  no  one  thought  of  disputing  another's 
right  to  the  spoons  and  knives  that  occasionally 
found  their  way  into  the  ash-barrels ;  while  bottles, 
old  shoes,  rags,  and  paper,  were  regular  articles  of 
traffic  among  them.  Jack  got  a  good  basketful  that 
day;  and  when  the  hurry  was  over  sat  down  to  rest 
and  clear  the  dirt  off  his  face  with  an  old  silk  duster 
which  he  had  picked  out  of  the  rubbish,  thinking 
Mrs.  Quinn  might  wash  it  up  for  a  handkerchief. 
But  he  didn't  wipe  his  dirty  face  that  day ;  for,  with 
the  rag,  out  tumbled  a  pocket-book ;  and  on  opening 
it  he  saw  —  money.  Yes ;  a  roll  of  bills,  with  two 
figures  on  all  of  them,  —  three  tens  and  one  twenty. 
It  took  his  breath  away  for  a  minute ;  then  he 
hugged  the  old  book  tight  in  both  his  grimy  hands, 


MY  LITTLE  GENTLEMAN.  139 

and  rocked  to  and  fro  all  in  a  heap  among  the  oys- 
ter-shells and  rusty  tin  kettles,  saying  to  himself, 
with  tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  "  O  Nanny ! 
O  Nanny !  now  I  can  do  it ! " 

I  don't  think  a  basket  of  cinders  ever  travelled  at" 
such  a  rate  before  as  Mrs.  Quinn's  did  that  day ;  for 
Jack  tore  home  at  a  great  pace,  and  burst  into  the 
room,  waving  the  old  duster,  and  shouting,  "Hooray! 
I've  got  it !  I've  got  it ! " 

It  is  no  wonder  Mrs.  Quinn  thought  he  had  lost 
his  wits ;  for  he  looked  like  a  wild  boy,  with  his  face 
all  streaked  with  tears  and  red  ashes,  as  he  danced 
a  double-shuffle  till  he  was  breathless,  then  show- 
ered the  money  into  Nanny's  lap,  and  hugged  her 
with  another  "  Hooray ! "  which  ended  in  a  choke. 
"When  they  got  him  quiet  and  heard  the  story,  Mrs. 
Quinn  rather  damped  his  joy,  by  telling  him  the 
money  wasn't  his,  and  he  ought  to  advertise  it. 

"  But  I  want  it  for  Nanny  ! "  cried  Jack ;  "  and 
how  can  I  ever  find  who  owns  it,  when  there  was 
ever  so  many  barrels  emptied  in  that  heap,  and  no 
one  knows  where  they  came  from  ?  " 


140  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  It's  very  like  you  won't  find  the  owner,  and  you 
can  do  as  you  please;  but  it's  honest  to  try,  I'm 
thinking,  for  some  poor  girl  may  have  lost  her  earn- 
in's  this  way,  and  we  wouldn't  like  that  ourselves," 
said  Mrs.  Quinn,  turning  over  the  shabby  pocket- 
book,  and  carefully  searching  for  some  clue  to  its 
owner. 

Nanny  looked  very  sober,  and  Jack  grabbed  up 
the  money  as  if  it  were  too  precious  to  lose.  But 
he  wasn't  comfortable  about  it;  and  after  a  hard 
fight  with  himself  he  consented  to  let  Mrs.  Quinn 
ask  their  policeman  what  they  should  do.  He  was 
a  kindly  man ;  and  when  he  heard  the  story,  said 
he'd  do  what  was  right,  and  if  he  couldn't  find  an 
owner,  Jack  should  have  the  fifty  dollars  back. 

How  hard  it  was  to  wait !  how  Jack  thought  and 
dreamed  of  his  money,  day  and  night !  How  Nanny 
ran  to  the  door  to  listen  when  a  heavy  step  came 
up  the  stairs !  and  how  wistfully  the  poor  darkened 
eyes  turned  to  the  light  which  they  longed  to  see 
again. 

Honest  John  Floyd  did  his  duty,  but  he  didn't 


MY  LITTLE   GENTLEMAN.  141 

find  the  owner  ;  so  the  old  purse  came  back  at  last, 
and  now  Jack  could  keep  it  with  a  clear  conscience. 
Nanny  was  asleep  when  it  happened ;  and  as  they 
sat  counting  the  dingy  bills,  Mrs.  Quinn  said  to  the 
boy,  "  Jack,  you'd  better  keep  this  for  yourself.  I 
doubt  if  it's  enough  to  do  the  child  any  good ;  and 
you  need  clothes  and  shoes,  and  a  heap  of  things, 
let  alone  the  books  you  hanker  after  so  much.  It 
ain't  likely  you'll  ever  find  another  wallet.  It's  all 
luck  about  Nanny's  eyes ;  and  maybe  you  are  only 
throwing  away  a  chance  you'll  never  have  again." 

Jack  leaned  his  head  on  his  arms  and  stared  at  the 
money,  all  spread  out  there,  and  looking  so  magnifi- 
cent to  him  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  could  buy  half  the 
world.  He  did  need  clothes;  his  hearty  boy's  ap- 
petite did  long  for  better  food;  and,  oh!  how 
splendid  it  would  be  to  go  and  buy  the  books  he  had 
wanted  so  long,  —  the  books  that  would  give  him  a 
taste  of  the  knowledge  which  was  more  enticing  to 
his  wide-awake  young  mind  than  clothes  and  food  to 
his  poor  little  body.  It  wasn't  an  easy  thing  to  do ; 
but  he  was  so  used  to  making  small  sacrifices  that 


142  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

the  great  one  was  less  hard;  and  when  he  had 
brooded  over  the  money  a  few  minutes  in  thought- 
ful silence,  his  eye  went  from  the  precious  bits  of 
paper  to  the  dear  little  face  in  the  trundle-bed,  and 
he  said,  with  a  decided  nod,  "  I'll  give  Nanny  the 
chance,  and  work  for  my  things,  or  go  without  'em." 

Mrs.  Quinn  was  a  matter-of-fact  body;  but  her 
hard  old  face  softened  when  he  said  that,  and  she 
kissed  him  good-night  almost  as  gently  as  if  she'd 
been  his  mother. 

Next  day,  Jack  presented  himself  at  Dr.  Wilkin- 
son's door,  with  the  money  in  one  hand  and  Nanny 
in  the  other,  saying  boldly  to  the  gruff  servant,  "  I 
want  to  see  the  doctor.  I  can  pay ;  so  you'd  better 
let  me  in." 

I'm  afraid  cross  Thomas  would  have  shut  the  door 
in  the  boy's  face  again,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  lit- 
tle blind  girl,  who  looked  up  at  him  so  imploringly 
that  he  couldn't  resist  the  mute  appeal. 

"The  doctor's  going  out;  but  maybe  he'll  see  you 
a  minute ; "  and  with  that  he  led  them  into  a  room 
where  stood  a  tall  man  putting  on  his  gloves. 


MY  LITTLE   GENTLEMAN.  143 

Jack  was  a  modest  boy ;  but  he  was  so  afraid  that 
Nanny  would  lose  her  chance,  that  he  forgot  himself, 
and  told  the  little  story  as  fast  as  he  could  —  told  it 
well,  too,  I  fancy ;  for  the  doctor  listened  attentively, 
his  eye  going  from  the  boy's  eager,  flushed  face,  to 
the  pale  patient  one  beside  him,  as  if  the  two  little 
figures,  shabby  though  they  were,  illustrated  the  story 
better  than  the  finest  artist  could  have  done.  When 
Jack  ended,  the  doctor  sat  Nanny  on  his  knee,  gently 
lifted  up  the  half-shut  eyelids,  and  after  examining 
the  film  a  minute,  stroked  her  pretty  hair,  and  said 
so  kindly  that  she  nestled  her  little  hand  confidingly 
into  his,  "  I  think  I  can  help  you,  my  dear.  Tell  me 
where  you  live,  and  I'll  attend  to  it  at  once,  for  it's 
high  time  something  was  done." 

Jack  told  him,  adding,  with  a  manly  air,  as  he 
showed  the  money,  "I  can  pay  you,  sir,  if  fifty 
dollars  is  enough." 

"  Quite  enough,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  droll 
smile. 

"  If  it  isn't,  I'll  work  for  the  rest,  if  you'll  trust 
me.     Please  save   Nanny's   eyes,   and  I'll   do   any 


144  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

thing  to  pay  you!"  cried  Jack,  getting  red  and 
choky  in  his  earnestness. 

The  doctor  stopped  smiling,  and  held  out  his  hand 
in  a  grave,  respectful  way,  as  he  said,  "  I'll  trust  you, 
my  boy.  We'll  cure  Nanny  first;  and  you  and  I 
will  settle  the  bill  afterward." 

Jack  liked  that;  it  was  a  gentlemanly  way  of 
doing  things,  and  he  showed  his  satisfaction  by 
smiling  all  over  his  face,  and  giving  the  big,  white 
hand  a  hearty  shake  with  both  his  rough  ones. 

The  doctor  was  a  busy  man ;  but  he  kept  them 
some  time,  for  there  were  no  children  in  the  fine 
house,  and  it  seemed  pleasant  to  have  a  little  girl 
sit  on  his  knee  and  a  bright  boy  stand  beside  his 
chair;  and  when,  at  last,  they  went  away,  they 
looked  as  if  he  had  given  them  some  magic  medicine, 
which  made  them  forget  every  trouble  they  had 
ever  known. 

Next  day  the  kind  man  came  to  give  Nanny  her 
chance.  She  had  no  doubt,  and  very  little  fear,  but 
looked  up  at  him  so  confidingly  when  all  was  ready, 
that  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  softly  before 
he  touched  her  eyes. 


MY  LITTLE  GENTLEMAN.    ■  145 

"Let  Jack  hold  my  hands;  then  I'll  be  still,  and 
not  mind  if  it  hurts  me,"  she  said.     So  Jack,  pale, 
with  anxiety,  knelt  down  before  her,  and  kept  the 
little  hands  steadily  in  his  all  through  the  minutes 
that  seemed  so  long  to  him. 

"  What  do  you  see,  my  child  ?  "  asked  the  doctor, 
when  he  had  done  something  to  both  eyes,  with  a 
quick,  skilful  hand. 

Nanny  leaned  forward,  with  the  film  all  gone,  and 
answered,  with  a  little  cry  of  joy,  that  went  to  the 
hearts  of  those  who  heard  it,  "  Jack's  face !  I  see  it ! 
oh,  I  see  it ! " 

Only  a  freckled,  round  face,  with  wet  eyes  and 
tightly-set  lips  ;  but  to  Nanny  it  was  as  beautiful  as 
the  face  of  an  angel ;  and  when  she  was  laid  away 
with  bandaged  eyes  to  rest,  it  haunted  all  her 
dreams,  for  it  was  the  face  of  the  little  friend  who 
loved  her  best. 

Nanny's  chance  was  not  a  failure ;  and  when  she 
saw  the  next  dandelions  he  brought  her,  all  the  sun- 
shine came  back  into  the  world  brighter  than  ever 
for  Jack.     "Well  might  it  seem  so ;  for  his  fifty  dollars 
10 


146  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

bought  him  many  things  that  money  seldom  buys. 
The  doctor  wouldn't  take  it  at  first ;  but  when  Jack 
said,  in  the  manful  tone  the  doctor  liked  although  it 
made  him  smile,  "  It  was  a  bargain,  sir.  I  wish  to 
pay  my  debts;  and  I  shan't  feel  happy  if  Nanny 
don't  have  it  all  for  her  eyes.  Please  do!  I'd 
rather," — then  he  took  it;  and  Nanny  did  have  it, 
not  only  for  her  eyes,  but  in  clothes  and  food  and 
care,  many  times  over ;  for  it  was  invested  in  a  bank 
that  pays  good  interest  on  every  mite  so  given. 

Jack  discovered  that  fifty  dollars  was  far  less  than 
most  people  would  have  had  to  pay,  and  begged 
earnestly  to  be  allowed  to  work  for  the  rest.  The 
doctor  agreed  to  this,  and  Jack  became  his  errand- 
boy,  serving  with  a  willingness  that  made  a  pleasure 
of  duty ;  soon  finding  that  many  comforts  quietly  got 
into  his  life;  that  much  help  was  given  without 
words ;  and  that  the  days  of  hunger  and  rags,  heavy 
burdens  and  dusty  ash-heaps,  were  gone  by  for 
ever. 

The  happiest  hours  of  Jack's  day  were  spent  in  the 
doctor's  chaise,  when  he  made  his  round  of  visits; 


MY  LITTLE  GENTLEMAN.  147 

for  while  he  waited,  the  boy  studied  or  read,  and 
while  they  drove  hither  and  thither,  the  doctor 
talked  with  him,  finding  an  eager  mind  as  well  as  a 
tender  heart  and  a  brave  spirit  under  the  rough 
jacket  of  his  little  serving-man.  But  he  never  called 
him  that;  for,  remembering  the  cheerfulness,  self- 
denial,  honesty,  and  loyalty  to  those  he  loved,  shown 
by  the  boy,  the  good  doctor  proved  his  respect  for 
the  virtues  all  men  should  covet,  wherever  they  are 
found,  and  always  spoke  of  Jack  with  a  smile,  as 
"  My  Little  Gentleman." 


148  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


BACK  WINDOWS. 

A  S  I  sit  "working  at  my  back  window,  I  look  out 
■*■■*■  on  a  long  row  of  other  people's  back  "win- 
dows; and  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  belp 
seeing  and  being  interested  in  my  neighbors.  There 
are  a  good  many  children  in  those  houses;  and 
though  I  don't  know  one  of  their  names,  I  know 
them  a  great  deal  better  than  they  think  I  do.  I 
never  spoke  a  word  to  any  of  them,  and  never 
expect  to  do  so ;  yet,  I  have  my  likes  and  dislikes 
among  them,  and  could  tell  them  things  that  they 
have  said  and  done,  which  would  astonish  them 
very  much,  I  assure  you. 

First,  the  babies,  —  for  there  are  three :  the  aristo- 
cratic baby,  the  happy-go-lucky  baby,  and  the  for- 
lorn baby.  The  aristocratic  baby  lives  in  a  fine, 
well-furnished  room,  has  a  pretty  little  mamma, 
who  wears  white  gowns,  and  pink  ribbons  in  her 


BACK   WINDOWS.  149 

cap;  likewise,  a  fond  young  papa,  who  evidently 
thinks  this  the  most  wonderful  baby  in  Boston. 
There  is  a  stout,  motherly  lady,  who  is  the  grandma, 
I  fancy,  for  she  is  always  hovering  about  "the 
dear  "  with  cups,  blankets,  or  a  gorgeous  red  worsted 
bird  to  amuse  it.  Baby  is  a  plump,  rosy,  sweet-faced 
little  creature,  always  smiling  and  kissing  its  hand 
to  the  world  in  general.  In  its  pretty  white  frocks, 
with  its  own  little  pink  or  blue  ribbons,  and  its 
young  mamma  proudly  holding  it  up  to  see  and  be 
seen,  my  aristocratic  neighbor  has  an  easy  life  of  it, 
and  is  evidently  one  of  the  little  lilies  who  do 
nothing  but  blossom  in  the  sunshine. 

The  happy-go-lucky  baby  is  just  able  to  toddle ; 
and  I  seldom  pull  up  my  curtain  in  the  morning 
without  seeing  him  at  his  window  in  his  yellow 
flannel  night-gown,  taking  a  look  at  the  weather. 
No  matter  whether  it  rains  or  shines,  there  he  is, 
smiling  and  nodding,  and  looking  so  merry,  that  it 
is  evident  he  has  plenty  of  sunshine  bottled  up 
in  his  own  little  heart  for  private  use.  I  depend 
on  seeing  him,  and  feel  as  if  the  world  was  not  right 


150  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

until  this  golden  little  sun  rises  to  shine  upon  me. 
He  don't  seem  to  have  any  one  to  take  care  of  him, 
but  trots  about  all  day,  and  takes  care  of  himself. 
Sometimes  he  is  up  in  the  chambers  with  the  girl, 
while  she  makes  beds,  and  he  helps ;  then  he  takes 
a  stroll  into  the  parlor,  and  spins  the  gay  curtain- 
tassels  to  his  heart's  content;  next,  he  dives  into 
the  kitchen  (I  hope  he  does  not  tumble  downstairs, 
but  I  dare  say  he  wouldn't  mind  if  he  did),  and  he 
gets  pushed  about  by  all  the  busy  women,  as  they 
"  fly  round."  I  rather  think  it  gets  too  hot  for  him 
there  about  dinner-time;  for  he  often  comes  out 
into  the  yard  for  a  walk  at  noon,  and  seems  to  find 
endless  wonders  and  delights  in  the  ash-barrel,  the 
water-butt,  two  old  flower-pots,  and  a  little  grass 
plat,  in  which  he  plants  a  choice  variety  of  articles, 
in  the  firm  faith  they  will  come  up  in  full  bloom.  I 
hope  the  big  spoon  and  his  own  red  shoe  will  sprout 
and  appear  before  any  trouble  is  made  about  their 
mysterious  disappearance.  At  night  I  see  a  little 
shadow  bobbing  about  on  the  curtain,  and  watch  it, 
till,  with  a  parting  glimpse  at  a  sleepy  face  at  the 


BACK   WINDOWS.  151 

window,  my  small  sun  sets,  and  I  leave  him  to  his 
dreams. 

The  forlorn  baby  roars  all  day,  and  I  don't  blame 
him ;  for  he  is  trotted,  shaken,  spanked,  and  scolded 
by  a  very  cross  nurse,  who  treats  him  like  a  meal- 
bag.  I  pity  that  little  neighbor,  and  don't  believe 
he  will  stand  it  long ;  for  I  see  him  double  up  his 
tiny  fists,  and  spar  away  at  nothing,  as  if  getting 
ready  for  a  good  tussle  with  the  world  by  and  by,  if 
he  lives  to  try  it. 

Then  the  boys,  —  bless  their  buttons !  —  how  amus- 
ing they  are.  One  young  man,  aged  about  ten, 
keeps  hens;  and  the  trials  of  that  boy  are  really 
pathetic.  The  biddies  get  out  every  day  or  two, 
and  fly  away  all  over  the  neighborhood,  like  feathers 
when  you  shake  a  pillow.  They  cackle  and  crow, 
and  get  up  on  sheds  and  fences,  and  trot  down  the 
streets,  all  at  once,  and  that  poor  fellow  spins  round 
after  them  like  a  distracted  top.  One  by  one  he 
gets  them  and  comes  lugging  them  back,  upside 
down,  in  the  most  undignified  attitude,  and  shuts 
them  up,  and  hammers  away,  and  thinks  they  are 


152  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

all  safe,  and  sits  down  to  rest,  when  a  triumphant 
crow  from  some  neighboring  shed  tells  him  that 
that  rascally  black  rooster  is  out  again  for  another 
promenade.  I'm  not  bloodthirsty ;  but  I  really  do 
long  for  Thanksgiving,  that  my  neighbor  Hen-ry 
may  find  rest  for  the  sole  of  his  foot ;  for,  not  till  his 
poultry  are  safely  eaten  will  he  ever  know  where 
they  are. 

Another  boy  has  a  circus  about  once  a  week,  and 
tries  to  break  his  neck  jumping  through  hoops, 
hanging  to  a  rope  by  his  heels,  turning  somersaults 
in  the  air,  and  frightening  his  mother  out  of  her  wits 
by  his  pranks.  I  suspect  that  he  has  been  to  see 
Leotard,  and  I  admire  his  energy,  for  he  is  never 
discouraged;  and,  after  tumbling  flat,  half-a-dozen 
times,  he  merely  rubs  his  elbows  and  knees,  and 
then  up  and  takes  another. 

There  is  a  good,  domestic  boy,  who  brushes  and 
curls  his  three  little  sisters'  hair  every  morning,  and 
must  do  it  very  gently,  for  they  seem  to  like  it; 
and  I  often  see  them  watch  at  the  back  gate  for 
him,  and  clap  their  hands,  and  run  to  meet  him,  sure 


BACK   WINDOWS.  153 

of  being  "welcomed  as  little  sisters  like  to  be  met  by 
the  big  brothers  whom  they  love.  I  respect  that 
virtuous  boy. 

The  naughty  boy  is  very  funny ;  and  the  running 
fight  he  keeps  up  with  the  cross  cook  is  as  good  as , 
a  farce.  He  is  a  torment,  but  I  think  she  could 
tame  him,  if  she  took  the  right  way.  The  other 
day  she  wouldn't  let  him  in  because  she  had  washed 
up  her  kitchen  and  his  boots  were  muddy.  He 
wiped  them  on  the  grass,  but  that  wouldn't  do; 
and,  after  going  at  her  with  his  head  down,  like  a 
battering-ram,  he  gave  it  up,  or  seemed  to ;  for,  the 
minute  she  locked  the  door  behind  her  and  came 
out  to  take  in  her  clothes,  that  sly  dog  whipped  up 
one  of  the  low  windows,  scrambled  in,  and  danced 
a  hornpipe  all  over  the  kitchen,  while  the  fat  cook 
scolded  and  fumbled  for  her  key,  for  she  couldn't 
follow  through  the  window.  Of  course  he  was  off 
upstairs  by  the  time  she  got  in ;  but  I'm  afraid  he 
had  a  shaking,  for  I  saw  him  glowering  fiercely  as 
he  came  out  later  with  a  basket,  going  some  "  con- 
founded   errand."     Occasionally  his  father  brings 


154  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

him  out  and  whips  him  for  some  extra  bad  offence, 
during  which  performance  he  howls  dismally;  but 
when  he  is  left  sitting  despondently  and  miracu- 
lously on  an  old  chair  without  any  seat,  he  soon 
.  cheers  up,  boos  at  a  strange  cat,  whistles  to  his  dog, 
—  who  is  just  like  him,  —  or  falls  back  on  that  stand- 
ing cure  for  all  the  ills  that  boys  are  heir  to,  and  whit- 
tles vigorously.  I  know  I  ought  to  frown  upon  this 
reprehensible  young  person,  and  morally  close  my 
eyes  to  his  pranks ;  but  I  really  can't  do  it,  and  am 
afraid  I  find  this  little  black  sheep  the  most  interest- 
ing of  the  flock. 

The  girls  have  tea-parties,  make  calls,  and  play 
mother,  of  course ;  and  the  sisters  of  the  good  boy 
have  capital  times  up  in  a  big  nursery,  with  such 
large  dollies  that  I  can  hardly  tell  which  are  the 
babies  and  which  the  mammas.  One  little  girl 
plays  about  at  home  with  a  dirty  face,  tumbled  hair, 
and  an  old  pinafore  on.  She  won't  be  made  tidy, 
and  I  see  her  kick  and  cry  when  they  try  to  make 
her  neat.  Now  and  then  there  is  a  great  dressing 
and  curling ;  and  then  I  see  her  prancing  away  in 


BACK   WINDOWS.  155 

her  light  boots,  smart  hat,  and  pretty  dress,  looking 
as  fresh  as  a  daisy.  But  I  don't  admire  her ;  for  I've 
been  behind  the  scenes,  you  see,  and  I  know  that 
she  likes  to  be  fine  rather  than  neat. 

So  is  the  girl  who  torments  her  kitty,  slaps  her 
sister,  and  runs  away  when  her  mother  tells  her  not 
to  go  out  of  the  yard.  But  the  housewifely  little 
girl  who  tends  the  baby,  washes  the  cups,  and  goes 
to  school  early  with  a  sunshiny  face  and  kiss  all 
round,  she,  now,  is  a  neighbor  worth  having,  and  I'd 
put  a  good  mark  against  her  name  if  I  knew  it. 

I  don't  know  as  it  would  be  proper  for  me  to  men- 
tion the  grown-up  people  over  the  way.  They  go 
on  very  much  as  the  children  do ;  for  there  is  the 
lazy,  dandified  man,  who  gets  up  late,  and  prinks ; 
the  cross  man,  who  swears  at  the  shed-door  when  it 
won't  shut ;  the  fatherly  man,  who  sits  among  his 
children  every  evening ;  and  the  cheery  old  man  up 
in  the  attic,  who  has  a  flower  in  his  window,  and 
looks  out  at  the  world  with  very  much  the  same 
serene  smile  as  my  orange-colored  baby. 

The  women,  too,  keep  house,  make  calls,  and  play 


156  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

mother ;  and  some  don't  do  it  well  either.  The  for- 
lorn baby's  mamma  never  seems  to  cuddle  and  com- 
fort him ;  and  some  day,  when  the  little  fist  lies  cold 
and  quiet,  I'm  afraid  she'll  wish  she  had.  Then  the 
naughty  boy's  mother.  I'm  very  sure,  if  she  put 
her  arms  round  him  sometimes,  and  smoothed  that 
rough  head  of  his,  and  spoke  to  him  as  only  mothers 
can  speak,  that  it  would  tame  him  far  better  than 
the  scoldings  and  thrashings ;  for  I  know  there  is  a 
true  boy's  heart,  warm  and  tender,  somewhere  under 
the  jacket  that  gets  dusted  so  often.  As  for  the  fine 
lady  who  lets  her  children  do  as  they  can,  while  she 
trims  her  bonnet,  or  makes  panniers,  I  wouldn't  be 
introduced  to  her  on  any  account.  But  as  some 
might  think  it  was  unjustifiable  curiosity  on  my  part 
to  see  these  things,  and  an  actionable  ofience  to 
speak  of  them,  I  won't  mention  them. 

I  sometimes  wonder  if  the  kind  spirits  who  feel 
an  interest  in  mortals  ever  take  a  look  at  us  on  the 
shady  side  which  we  don't  show  the  world,  seeing 
the  trouble,  vanities,  and  sins  which  we  think  no  one 
knows.    If  they  love,  pity,  or  condemn  us  ?    What 


BACK   WINDOWS.  157 

records  they  keep,  and  what  rewards  they  prepare 
for  those  who  are  so  busy  with  their  work  and  play 
that  they  forget  who  may  be  watching  their  back 
windows  with  clearer  eyes  and  truer  charity  than 
any  inquisitive  old  lady  with  a  pen  in  her  hand  ? 


158 


AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


LITTLE  MAKIE  OF  LEHON. 

"  T  TEBE  comes  our  pretty  little  girl,"  I  said  to 
Kate,  as  we  sat  resting  on  the  seat  beside 
the  footpath  that  leads  from  Dinan  on  the  hill  to 
Lehon  in  the  valley. 

Yes,  there  she  was,  trotting  toward  us  in  her 
round  cap,  blue  woollen  gown,  white  apron,  and 
wooden  shoes.  On  her  head  was  a  loaf  of  buck- 
wheat bread  as  big  as  a  small  wheel,  in  one  hand  a 
basket  full  of  green  stuff,  while  the  other  led  an  old 
goat,  who  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  get  home.  We  had 
often  seen  this  rosy,  bright-eyed  child,  had  nodded 
to  her,  but  never  spoken,  for  she  looked  rather  shy 
and  always  seemed  in  haste.  Now  the  sight  of  the 
goat  reminded  us  of  an  excuse  for  addressing  her, 
and  as  she  was  about  to  pass  with  the  respectful 
little  curtsey  of  the  country,  my  friend  said  in 
French :  — 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  159 

"Stay,  please.  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  She 
stopped  at  once  and  stood  looking  at  us  under  her 
long  eyelashes  in  a  timid,  yet  confiding  way,  very 
pretty  to  see. 

"  We  want  to  drink  goat's  milk  every  morning : 
can  you  let  us  have  it,  little  one  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  mademoiselle !  Nannette  gives  fine  milk, 
and  no  one  has  yet  engaged  her,"  answered  the  child, 
her  whole  face  brightening  at  the  prospect. 

"  What  name  have  you  ?  " 

"Marie  Rosier,  mademoiselle." 

"  And  you  live  at  Lehon  ?  " 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  Have  you  parents  ?  " 

"  Truly,  yes,  of  the  best.  My  father  has  a  loom, 
my  mother  works  in  the  field  and  mill  with  brother 
Yvon,  and  I  go  to  school  and  care  for  Nannette  and 
nurse  little  Bebe." 

"What  school?" 

"  At  the  convent,  mademoiselle.  The  good  sisters 
teach  us  the  catechism,  also  to  write  and  read  and 
sew.      I  like  it  much,"  and  Marie  glanced  at  the 


160  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG, 

little  prayer  in  her  apron  pocket,  as  if  proud  to 
show  she  could  read  it. 

"  What  age  have  you  ?  " 

"  Ten  years,  mademoiselle." 

"  You  are  young  to  do  so  much,  for  we  often  see 
you  in  the  market  buying  and  selling,  and  sometimes 
digging  in  your  garden  there  below,  and  bringing 
water  from  the  river.  Do  you  love  work  as  well  as 
school?" 

"  Ah,  no ;  but  mademoiselle  knows  it  is  necessary 
to  work ;  every  one  does,  and  I  am  glad  to  do  my 
part.  Yvon  works  much  harder  than  I,  and  the 
father  sits  all  day  at  his  loom,  yet  he  is  sick  and 
suffers  much.  Yes,  I  am  truly  glad  to  help,"  and 
little  Marie  settled  the  big  loaf  as  if  quite  ready  to 
bear  her  share  of  the  burdens. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  see  your  father  about  the  goat  ? 
and  if  he  agrees  will  you  bring  the  milk  fresh  and 
warm  every  morning?"  I  asked,  thinking  that  a 
sight  of  that  blooming  face  would  brighten  our  days 
for  us. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  always  do  it  for  the  ladies,  and  you 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  161 

will  find  the  milk  quite  fresh  and  warm,  hey,  Nan- 
nette  ?"  and  Marie  laughed  as  she  pulled  the  goat  from 
the  hedge  where  she  was  nibbling  the  young  leaves. 

We  followed  the  child  as  she  went  clattering 
down  the  stony  path,  and  soon  came  into  the 
narrow  street  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  row  of 
low,  stone  houses,  and  on  the  other  by  the  green, 
wet  meadow  full  of  willows,  and  the  rapid  mill- 
stream.  All  along  this  side  of  the  road  sat  women 
and  children,  stripping  the  bark  from  willow  twigs 
to  be  used  in  basket-making.  A  busy  sight  and 
a  cheerful  one;  for  the  women  gossiped  in  their 
high,  clear  voices,  the  children  sang  and  laughed, 
and  the  babies  crept  about  as  freely  as  young 
lambs. 

We  found  Marie's  home  a  very  poor  one.  Only 
two  rooms  in  the  little  hut,  the  lower  one  with  its 
earthern  floor,  beds  in  the  wall,  smoky  fire,  and 
single  window  where  the  loom  stotfd.  At  it  sat 
a  pale,  dark  man  who  stopped  work  as  we  entered, 
and  seemed  glad  to  rest  while  we  talked  to  him,  or 
rather  while  Kate  did,  for  I  could  not  understand 
11 


162  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP- BAG. 

his  odd  French,  and  preferred  to  watch  Marie  during 
the  making  of  the  bargain. 

Yvon,  a  stout  lad  of  twelve,  was  cutting  up  brush 
with  an  old  sickle,  and  little  Bebe,  looking  like 
a  Dutch  doll  in  her  tiny  round  cap,  tight  blue  gown, 
and  bits  of  sabots,  clung  to  Marie  as  she  got  the 
supper. 

I  wondered  what  the  children  at  home  would 
have  said  to  such  a  supper.  A  few  cabbage  leaves 
made  the  soup,  and  this,  with  the  dry  black  bread 
and  a  sip  of  sour  wine,  was  all  they  had.  There 
were  no  plates  or  bowls,  but  little  hollow  places  in 
the  heavy  wooden  table  near  the  edge,  and  into 
these  fixed  cups  Marie  ladled  the  soup,  giving  each 
a  wooden  spoon  from  a  queer  rack  in  the  middle; 
the  kettle  stood  at  one  end,  the  big  loaf  lay  at 
the  other,  and  all  stood  round  eating  out  of  their 
little  troughs,  with  Nannette  and  a  rough  dog  close 
by  to  receive  "any  crusts  that  might  be  left. 

Presently  the  mother  came  in,  a  true  Breton 
woman;  rosy  and  robust,  neat  and  cheery,  though 
her  poor  clothes  were  patched  all  over,  her  hands 


LITTLE  MARIE   OF  LEHON.  163 

more  rough  and  worn  with  hard  work  than  any 
I  ever  saw,  and  the  fine  hair  under  her  picturesque 
cap  gray  at  thirty  with  much  care. 

I  saw  then  where  Marie  got  the  brightness  that 
seemed  to  shine  in  every  feature  of  her  little  face, 
for  the  mother's  coming  was  like  a  ray  of  sunshine 
in  that  dark  place,  and  she  had  a  friendly  word 
and  look  for  every  one. 

Our  little  arrangement  was  soon  made,  and  we 
left  them  all  smiling  and  nodding  as  if  the  few 
francs  we  were  to  pay  would  be  a  fortune  to 
them. 

Early  next  morning  we  were  wakened  by  Fran- 
coise  the  maid,  who  came  up  to  announce  that 
the  goat's  milk  had  arrived.  Then  we  heard  a 
queer,  quick,  tapping  sound  on  the  stairs,  and  to  our 
great  amusement,  Nannette  walked  into  the  room, 
straight  up  to  my  bedside,  and  stood  there  looking 
at  me  with  her  mild  yellow  eyes  as  if  she  was  quite 
used  to  seeing  night-caps.  Marie  followed  with  a 
pretty  little  bowl  in  her  hand,  and  said,  laughing 
at   our  surprise,  "  See,  dear  mademoiselle ;  in  this 


164  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

way  I  make  sure  that  the  milk  is  quite  fresh  and 
warm;"  and  kneeling  down,  she  milked  the  bowl 
full  in  a  twinkling,  while  Nannette  quietly  chewed 
her  cud  and  sniffed  at  a  plate  of  rolls  on  the 
table. 

The  warm  draught  was  delicious,  and  we  drank 
each  our  portion  with  much  merriment. 

"It  is  our  custom,"  said  Francoise;  who  stood 
by  with  her  arms  folded,  and  looked  on  in  a  lofty 
manner. 

"What  had  you  for  your  own  breakfast?"  I 
asked,  as  I  caught  Marie's  eye  hungrily  fixed  on  the 
rolls  and  some  tempting  little  cakes  of  chocolate 
left  from  our  lunch  the  day  before. 

"  My  good  bread,  as  usual,  mademoiselle,  also  sor- 
rel salad  and  —  and  water,"  answered  Marie,  as  if 
trying  to  make  the  most  of  her  scanty  meal. 

"Will  you  eat  the  rolls  and  put  the  chocolate 
in  your  pocket  to  nibble  at  school  ?  You  must  be 
tired  with  this  long  walk  so  early." 

She  hesitated,  but  could  not  resist ;  and  said  in  a 
low  tone,  as  she  held  the  bread  in  her  hand  without 
eating  it,  — 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  165 

"Would  mademoiselle  be  angry  if  I  took  it  to 
Bebe?  She  has  never  tasted  the  beautiful  white 
bread,  and  it  would  please  her  much." 

I  emptied  the  plate  into  her  basket,  tucked  in  the 
chocolate,  and  added  a  gay  picture  for  baby,  which 
unexpected  treasures  caused  Marie  to  clasp  her 
hands  and  turn  quite  red  with  delight. 

After  that  she  came  daily,  and  we  had  merry 
times  with  old  Nannette  and  her  little  mistress, 
whom  we  soon  learned  to  love,  so  busy,  blithe,  and 
grateful  was  she. 

We  soon  found  a  new  way  to  employ  her,  for  the 
boy  who  drove  our  donkey  did  not  suit  us,  and  we 
got  the  donkey- woman  to  let  us  have  Marie  in  the 
afternoon  when  her  lessons  were  done.  She  liked 
that,  and  so  did  we ;  for  she  seemed  to  understand 
the  nature  of  donkeys,  and  could  manage  them  with- 
out so  much  beating  and  shouting  as  the  boy  thought 
necessary.  Such  pleasant  drives  as  we  had,  we  two 
big  women  in  the  droll  wagon,  drawn  by  the  lit- 
tle gray  donkey  that  looked  as  if  made  of  an  old 
trunk,  so  rusty  and  rough  was  he  as  he  went  trot- 


166  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

ting  along,  his  long  ears  wagging,  and  his  small 
hoofs  clattering  over  the  fine,  hard  road,  while 
Marie  sat  on  the  shaft  with  a  long  whip,  talking  and 
laughing,  and  giving  Andre  a  poke  now  and  then, 
crying  "  E !  E !  houp  la ! "  to  make  him  go. 

We  found  her  a  capital  little  guide  and  story- 
teller, for  her  grandmother  had  told  her  all  the  tales 
and  legends  of  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was  very 
pleasant  to  hear  her  repeat  them  in  pretty  peasant 
French,  as  we  sat  among  the  ruins,  while  Kate 
sketched,  I  took  notes,  and  Marie  held  the  big  par- 
asol over  us. 

Some  of  these  stories  were  charming ;  at  least  as 
she  told  them,  with  her  little  face  changing  from  gay 
to  sad  as  she  gesticulated  most  dramatically. 

The  romance  of  "Gilles  de  Bretagne"  was  one  of 
her  favorites.  How  he  carried  off  his  child-wife 
when  she  was  only  twelve,  how  he  was  imprisoned 
and  poisoned,  and  at  last  left  to  starve  in  a  dungeon, 
and  would  stand  at  his  window  crying,  "Bread, 
bread ;  for  the  love  of  God ! "  yet  no  one  dared  to 
give  him  any,  till  a  poor  peasant  woman  went  in 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  167 

the  night  and  gave  him  half  her  black  loaf.  Not 
once,  but  every  night,  for  six  months,  though  she 
robbed  her  children  to  do  it.  And  when  he  was 
dying,  it  was  she  who  took  a  priest  to  him  that 
he  might  confess  through  the  bars  of  his  cell. 

"So  good,  ah,  so  good,  this  poor  woman!  It 
is  beautiful  to  hear  of  that,  mademoiselle ! "  little 
Marie  would  say,  with  her  black  eyes  full,  and  her 
lips  trembling. 

But  the  story  she  liked  best  of  all  was  about  the 
peasant  girl  and  her  grandmother. 

"  See  then,  dear  ladies,  it  was  in  this  way.  In  the 
time  of  the  great  war  many  poor  people  were  shot 
because  it  was  feared  they  would  burn  the  chateaus. 
In  one  of  these  so  sad  parties  being  driven  to  St. 
Malo  to  be  shot,  was  this  young  girl.  Only  fifteen, 
dear  ladies,  behold  how  young  is  this !  and  see  the 
brave  thing  she  did !  With  her  went  the  old  grand- 
mother whom  she  loved  next  the  good  God.  They 
went  slowly,  she  was  so  old,  and  one  of  the  officers 
who  guarded  them  had  pity  on  the  pretty  girl,  and 
said  to  her  as  they  were  a  little  apart  from  the  rest, 


168 


AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


1  Come,  you  are  young  and  can  run.  I  will  save  you ; 
it  is  a  pity  so  fine  a  little  girl  be  shot.' 

"  Then  she  was  glad  and  thanked  him  much,  say- 
ing, c  And  the  grandmother  also  ?  You  will  save  her 
with  me  ? '  f  It  is  impossible,'  says  the  officer.  '  She 
is  too  old  to  run.  I  can  save  but  one,  and  her  life  is 
nearly  over ;  let  her  go,  and  do  you  fly  into  the  next 
wood.  I  will  not  betray  you,  and  when  we  come  up 
with  the  gang  it  will  be  too  late  to  find  you.' 

"  Then  the  great  temptation  of  Satan  came  to  this 
girl.  She  had  no  wish  to  suffer,  but  she  could  not 
leave  the  good  old  grandmere  to  die  alone.  She 
wept,  she  prayed,  and  the  saints  gave  her  courage. 

" '  No,  I  will  not  go,'  she  said ;  and  in  the  morning  at 
St.  Malo  she  was  shot  with  the  old  mother  in  her  arms." 

"  Could  you  do  that  for  your  grandmere  ?  "  I  once 
asked,  as  she  stopped  for  breath,  because  this  tale 
always  excited  her.  She  crossed  herself  devoutly, 
and  answered  with  fire  in  her  eyes  and  a  resolute 
gesture  of  her  little  brown  hands,  — 

"  I  should  try,  mademoiselle." 

I  think  she  would,  and  succeed,  too,  for  she  was  a 


LITTLE  MARIE   OF  LEHON.  169 

brave  and  tender-hearted  child,  as  she  soon  after 
proved.  , 

A  long"  drought  parched  the  whole  country  that 
summer,  and  the  gardens  suffered  much,  especially 
the  little  plats  in  Lehon,  for  most  of  them  were  on 
the  steep  hillside  behind  the  huts,  and  unless  it 
rained  water  had  to  be  carried  up  from  the  stream 
below.  The  cabbages  and  onions  on  which  these 
poor  people  depend,  when  fresh  salads  are  gone, 
were  dying  in  the  baked  earth,  and  a  hard  winter 
was  before  them  if  this  little  store  failed. 

The  priests  prayed  for  rain  in  the  churches,  and 
long  processions  streamed  out  of  the  gates  to  visit 
the  old  stone  cross  called  the  "  Croix  de  Saint  Esprit," 
and,  kneeling  there  in  crowds,  the  people  implored 
the  blessing  of  rain  to  save  their  harvest.  We  felt 
great  pity  for  them,  but  liked  little  Marie's  way  of 
praying  best. 

She  did  not  come  one  morning,  but  sent  her  brother, 
who  only  laughed,  and  said  Marie  had  hurt  her  foot, 
when  we  inquired  for  her.  Anxious  to  know  if  she 
was  really  ill  we  went  to  see  her  in  the  afternoon, 


170  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

and  heard  a  pretty  little  story  of  practical  Chris- 
tianity. 

Marie  lay  asleep  on  her  mother's  bed  in  the  wall, 
and  her  father,  sitting  by  her,  told  the  tale  in  a  low 
voice,  pausing  now  and  then  to  look  at  her,  as  if  his 
little  daughter  had  done  something  to  be  proud  of. 

It  seems  that  in  the  village  there  was  an  old  woman, 
frightfully  disfigured  by  fire,  and  not  quite  sane  as  the 
people  thought.  She  was  harmless,  but  never  showed 
herself  by  day,  and  only  came  out  at  night  to  work 
in  her  garden  or  take  the  air.  Many  of  the  ignorant 
peasants  feared  her,  however,  for  the  country  abounds 
in  fairy  legends,  and  strange  tales  of  ghosts  and  gob- 
lins. But  the  more  charitable  left  bread  at  her  door, 
and  took  in  return  the  hose  she  knit  or  the  thread 
she  spun. 

During  the  drought  it  was  observed  that  her  gar- 
den, though  the  steepest  and  stoniest,  was  never 
dry;  her  cabbages  flourished  when  her  neighbors' 
withered,  and  her  onions  stood  up  green  and  tall 
as  if  some  special  rain-spirit  watched  over  them. 
People  wondered  and  shook  their  heads,  but  could 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  171 

not  explain  it,  for  Mother  Lobineau  was  too  infirm 
to  carry  much  water  up  the  steep  path,  and  who 
would  help  her  unless  some  of  her  own  goblin 
friends  did  it? 

This  idea  was  suggested  by  the  story  of  a  peasant 
returning  late  at  night,  who  had  seen  something 
white  flitting  to  and  fro  in  the  garden-patch,  and 
when  he  called  to  it  saw  it  vanish  most  mysteriously. 
This  made  quite  a  stir  in  the  town ;  others  watched 
also,  saw  the  white  phantom  in  the  starlight,  and 
could  not  tell  where  it  went  when  it  vanished 
behind  the  chestnut  trees  on  the  hill,  till  one  man, 
braver  than  the  rest,  hid  himself  behind  these  trees 
and  discovered  the  mystery.  The  sprite  was  Marie, 
in  her  little  shift,  who  stepped  out  of  the  window  of 
the  loft  where  she  slept  on  to  a  bough  of  the  tree, 
and  thence  to  the  hill,  for  the  house  was  built  so 
close  against  the  bank  that  it  was  "  but  a  step  from 
garret  to  garden,"  as  they  say  in  Morlaix. 

In  trying  to  escape  from  this  inquisitive  neighbor, 
Marie  hurt  her  foot,  but  was  caught,  and  confessed  that 
it  was  she  who  went  at  night  to  water  poor  Mother 


172  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Lobineau's  cabbages ;  because  if  they  failed  the  old 
woman  might  starve,  and  no  one  else  remembered 
her  destitute  and  helpless  state. 

The  good-hearted  people  were  much  touched 
by  this  silent  sermon  on  loving  one's  neighbor  as 
one's  self,  and  Marie  was  called  the  "little  saint," 
and  tended  carefully  by  all  the  good  women.  Just 
as  the  story  ended,  she  woke  up,  and  at  first  seemed 
inclined  to  hide  under  the  bedclothes.  But  we  had 
her  out  in  a  minute,  and  presently  she  was  laughing 
over  her  good  deed,  with  a  true  child's  enjoyment 
of  a  bit  of  roguery,  saying  in  her  simple  way,  — 

"Yes;  it  was  so  droll  to  go  running  about  en 
chemise,  like  the  girl  in  the  tale  of  the  '  Midsummer 
Eve,'  where  she  pulls  the  Saint  Johnswort  flower, 
and  has  her  wish  to  hear  all  the  creatures  talk.  I 
liked  it  much,  and  Yvon  slept  so  like  the  dormouse 
that  he  never  heard  me  creep  in  and  out.  It  was 
hard  to  bring  much  water,  but  the  poor  cabbages 
were  so  glad,  and  Mother  Lobineau  felt  that  all  had 
not  forgotten  her." 

We  took  care  that  little   Saint  Marie  was  not 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  173 

forgotten,  but  quite  well,  and  all  ready  for  her  con- 
firmation when  the  day  came.  This  is  a  pretty  sight, 
and  for  her  sake  we  went  to  the  old  church  of  St. 
Sauveur  to  see  it.  It  was  a  bright  spring  day,  and 
the  gardens  were  full  of  early  flowers,  the  quaint 
streets  gay  with  proud  fathers  and  mothers  in  holi- 
day dress,  and  flocks  of  strangers  pausing  to  see  the 
long  procession  of  little  girls  with  white  caps  and 
veils,  gloves  and  gowns,  prayer-books  and  rosaries, 
winding  through  the  sunny  square  into  the  shadowy 
church  with  chanting  and  candles,  garlands  and 
crosses. 

The  old  priest  was  too  ill  to  perform  the  service, 
but  the  young  one  who  took  his  place  announced, 
after  it  was  over,  that  if  they  would  pass  the  house 
the  good  old  man  would  bless  them  from  his  bal- 
cony. That  was  the  best  of  all,  and  a  sweet  sight, 
as  the  feeble,  fatherly  old  priest  leaned  from  his 
easy-chair  to  stretch  his  trembling  hands  over  the 
little  flock  so  like  a  bed  of  snowdrops,  while  the 
bright  eyes  and  rosy  faces  looked  reverently  up  at 
him,  and  the  fresh  voices   chanted  the  responses 


174  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

as  the  curly  heads  under  the  long  veils  bowed  and 
passed  by. 

We  learned  afterward  that  our  Marie  had  been 
called  in  and  praised  for  her  secret  charity,  —  a  great 
honor,  because  the  good  priest  was  much  beloved 
by  all  his  flock,  and  took  a  most  paternal*  interest 
in  the  little  ones. 

That  was  almost  the  last  we  saw  of  our  little 
friend,  for  we  left  Dinan  soon  after,  bidding  the 
Lehon  family  good-by,  and  leaving  certain  warm 
souvenirs  for  winter-time.  Marie  cried  and  clung 
to  us  at  parting,  then  smiled  like  an  April  day,  and 
waved  her  hand  as  we  went  away,  never  expecting 
to  see  her  any  more. 

But  the  next  morning,  just  as  we  were  stepping 
on  board  the  steamer  to  go  down  the  Ranee  to  St. 
Malo,  we  saw  a  little  white  cap  come  bobbing 
through  the  market-place,  down  the  steep  street, 
and  presently  Marie  appeared  with  two  great 
bunches  of  pale  yellow  primroses  and  wild  blue 
hyacinths  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  held  her 
sabots  that  she  might  run  the  faster.    Rosy  and 


LITTLE  MARIE  OF  LEHON.  175 

smiling  and  breathless  with  haste  she  came  racing 
up  to  us,  crying,  — 

"  Behold  my  souvenir  for  the  dear  ladies.  I  do 
not  cry  now.  No;  I  am  glad  the  day  is  so  fine. 
Bon  voyage  !  bon  voyage  !  " 

We  thanked  and  kissed  and  left  her  on  the  shore, 
bravely  trying  not  to  cry,  as  she  waved  her  wooden 
shoes  and  kissed  her  hand  till  we  were  out  of  sight, 
and  had  nothing  but  the  soft  colors  and  sweet 
breath  of  our  nosegays  to  remind  us  of  Little  Marie 
of  Lehon. 


176  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


MY    MAY-DAY    AMONG    CURIOUS    BIRDS 
AND  BEASTS. 

~T>  EING  alone  in  London,  yet  wishing  to  celebrate 
■^-^  the  day,  I  decided  to  pay  my  respects  to  the 
lions  at  the  the  Zoological  Gardens.  A  lovely  place 
it  was,  and  I  enjoyed  myself  immensely ;  for  May- 
day in  England  is  just  what  it  should  be,  mild, 
sunny,  flowery,  and  spring-like.  As  I  walked  along 
the  well-kept  paths,  between  white  and  rosy  haw- 
thorn hedges,  I  kept  coming  upon  new  and  curious 
sights ;  for  the  birds  and  beasts  are  so  skilfully 
arranged,  that  it  is  more  like  travelling  through  a 
strange  and  pleasant  country  than  visiting  a  men- 
agerie. 

The  first  thing  I  saw  was  a  great  American  bison ; 
and  I  was  so  glad  to  meet  with  any  one  from  home, 
that  I'd  have  patted  him  with  pleasure,  if  he  had 
shown  any  cordiality  toward  me.  He  didn't,  how- 
ever, but  stared  savagely  with  his  fiery  eyes,  and  put 


MAY-DAY  AMONG  BIRDS  AND  BEASTS.     177 

down  his  immense  head  with  a  sullen  snort,  as  if 
he'd  have  tossed  me  with  great  satisfaction-  I  did 
not  blame  him,  for  the  poor  fellow  was  homesick, 
doubtless,  for  his  own  wide  prairies  and  the  free  life 
he  had  lost.  So  I  threw  him  some  fresh  clover,  and 
went  on  to  the  pelicans. 

I  never  knew  before  what  handsome  birds  they 
were ;  not  graceful,  but  with  such  snowy  plumage, 
tinged  with  pale  pink  and  faint  yellow.  They  had 
j  ust  had  their  bath,  and  stood  arranging  their  feathers 
with  their  great  bills,  uttering  a  queer  cry  now  and 
then,  and  nodding  to  one  another  sociably.  When 
fed,  they  gobbled  up  the  fish,  never  stopping  to  swal- 
low it  till  the  pouches  under  their  bills  were  full; 
then  they  leisurely  emptied  them,  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  their  lunch  with  the  grave  deliberation  of  reg- 
ular Englishmen. 

Being  in  a  hurry  to  see  the  lions,  I  went  on  to  the 
long  row  of  cages,  and  there  found  a  splendid  sight. 
Six  lions  and  lionesses,  in  three  or  four  different 
cages,  sitting  or  standing  in  dignified  attitudes,  and 
eying  the  spectators  with  a  mild  expression  in  their 
12 


178  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

fine  eyes.  One  lioness  was  ill,  and  lay  on  her  bed, 
looking  very  pensive,  while  her  mate  moved  restlessly 
about  her,  evidently  anxious  to  do  something  for  her, 
and  much  afflicted  by  her  suffering.  I  liked  this  lion 
very  much,  for,  though  the  biggest,  he  was  very 
gentle,  and  had  a  noble  face. 

The  tigers  were  rushing  about,  as  tigers  usually 
are ;  some  creeping  noiselessly  to  and  fro,  some  leap* 
ing  up  and  down,  and  some  washing  their  faces  with 
their  velvet  paws.  All  looked  and  acted  so  like  cats, 
that  I  wasn't  at  all  surprised  to  hear  one  of  them  purr 
when  the  keeper  scratched  her  head.  It  was  a  very 
loud  and  large  purr,  but  no  fireside  pussy  could  have 
done  it  better,  and  every  one  laughed  at  the  sound. 

There  were  pretty  spotted  leopards,  panthers,  and 
smaller  varieties  of  the  same  species.  I  sat  watch- 
ing them  a  long  time,  longing  to  let  some  of  the 
wild  things  out  for  a  good  run,  they  seemed  so  un- 
happy barred  in  those  small  dens. 

Suddenly  the  lions  began  to  roar,  the  tigers  to 
snarl,  and  all  to  get  very  much  excited  about  some- 
thing, sniffing  at  the  openings,  thrusting  their  paws 


MAY-DAY  AMONG  BIRDS  AND  BEASTS.     179 

through  the  bars,  and  lashing  their  tails  impatiently. 
I  couldn't  imagine  what  the  trouble  was,  till,  far  down 
the  line,  I  saw  a  man  with  a  barrow  full  of  lumps  of 
raw  meat.  This  was  their  dinner ;  and,  as  they  were 
fed  but  once  a  day,  they  were  ravenous.  Such  roars 
and  howls  and  cries  as  arose,  while  the  man  went 
slowly  down  the  line,  gave  one  a  good  idea  of  the 
sounds  to  be  heard  in  Indian  forests  and  jungles. 
The  lions  behaved  best,  for  they  only  paced  up  and 
down,  ^\jjth  an  occasional  cry ;  but  the  tigers  were 
quite  frantic  ;  for  they  tumbled  one  over  the  other, 
shook  the  cages,  and  tried  to  reach  the  bystanders, 
just  out  of  reach  behind  the  bar  that  kept  us  at  a 
safe  distance.  One  lady  had  a  fright,  for  the  wind 
blew  the  end  of  her  shawl  within  reach  of  a  tiger's 
great  claw,  and  he  clutched  it,  trying  to  drag  her 
nearer.  The  shawl  came  off,  and  the  poor  lady  ran 
away  screaming,  as  if  a  whole  family  of  wild  beasts 
were  after  her. 

When  the  lumps  of  meat  were  thrown  in,  it  was 
furious  to  see  how  differently  the  animals  behaved. 
The  tigers  snarled  and  fought  and  tore  and  got 


180  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

so  savage  I  was  very  grateful  that  they  were  safely 
shut  up.  In  a  few  minutes,  nothing  but  white  bones 
remained,  and  then  they  howled  for  more.  One 
little  leopard  was  better  bred  than  the  others,  for  he 
went  up  on  a  shelf  in  the  cage,  and  ate  his  dinner 
in  a  quiet,  proper  manner,  which  was  an  example  to 
the  rest. 

The  lions  ate  in  dignified  silence,  all  but  my 
favorite,  who  carried  his  share  to  his  sick  mate,  and 
by  every  gentle  means  in  his  power  tried  to  make 
her  eat.  She  was  too  ill,  however,  and  turned  away 
with  a  plaintive  moan  which  seemed  to  grieve 
him  sadly.  He  wouldn't  touch  his  dinner,  but  lay 
down  near  her,  with  the  lump  between  his  paws,  as 
if  guarding  it  for  her ;  and  there  I  left  him  patiently 
waiting,  in  spite  of  his  hunger,  till  his  mate  could 
share  it  with  him.  As  I  took  a  last  look  at  his  fine 
old  face,  I  named  him  Douglas,  and  walked  away, 
humming  to  myself  the  lines  of  the  ballad,  — 

"Douglas,  Douglas, 
Tender  and  true." 

As  a  contrast  to  the  wild  beasts,  I  went  to  see  the 


MAY-DAY  AMONG  BIRDS  AND  BEASTS.     181 

monkeys  who  lived  in  a  fine  large  house,  all  to  them- 
selves. Here  was  every  variety,  from  the  great 
ugly  chimpanzee  to  the  funny  little  fellows  who 
played  like  boys,  and  cut  up  all  sorts  of  capers.  A 
mamma  sat  tending  her  baby,  and  looking  so  like 
a  little  old  woman  that  I  laughed  till  the  gray 
monkey  with  the  blue  nose  scolded  at  me.  He  was 
a  cross  old  party,  and  sat  huddled  up  in  the  straw, 
scowling  at  every  one,  like  an  ill-tempered  old 
bachelor.  Half  a  dozen  little  ones  teased  him  cap- 
itally by  dropping  bits  of  bread,  nut-shells,  and 
straws  down  on  him  from  above,  as  they  climbed 
about  the  perches  or  swung  by  their  tails.  One 
poor  little  chap  had  lost  the  curly  end  of  his  tail,  — 
I'm  afraid  the  gray  one  bit  it  off,  —  and  kept  trying 
to  swing  like  the  others,  forgetting  that  the  strong, 
curly  end  was  what  he  held  on  with.  He  would 
run  up  the  bare  boughs,  and  give  a  jump,  expecting 
to  catch  and  swing,  but  the  lame  tail  wouldn't  hold 
him,  and  down  he'd  go,  bounce  on  to  the  straw. 
At  first  he'd  sit  and  stare  about  him,  as  if  much 
amazed  to  find  himself  there ;   then  he'd  scratch  his 


182  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

little  round  head,  and  begin  to  scold  violently,  which 
seemed  to  delight  the  other  monkeys;  and  finally, 
he'd  examine  his  poor  little  tail,  and  appear  to 
understand  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  him. 
The  funny  expression  of  his  face  was  irresistible, 
and  I  enjoyed  seeing  him  very  much,  and  gave  him 
a  bun  to  comfort  him  when  I  went  away. 

The  snake-house  came  next,  and  I  went  in,  on  my 
way  to  visit  the  rhinoceros  family.  I  rather  like 
snakes,  since  I  had  a  tame  green  one,  who  lived 
under  the  doorstep,  and  would  come  out  and  play 
with  me  on  sunny  days.  These  snakes  I  found  very 
interesting,  only  they  got  under  their  blankets  and 
wouldn't  come  out,  and  I  wasn't  allowed  to  poke 
them ;  so  I  missed  seeing  several  of  the  most  curious. 
An  ugly  cobra  laid  and  blinked  at  me  through  the 
glass,  looking  quite  as  dangerous  as  he  was.  There 
were  big  and  little  snakes,  —  black,  brown,  and 
speckled,  lively  and  lazy,  pretty  and  plain  ones,  — 
but  I  liked  the  great  boa  best. 

"When  I  came  to  his  cage,  I  didn't  see  any  thing 
but  the  branch  of  a  tree,  such  as  I  had  seen  in  other 


MAY-DAY  AMONG  BIRDS  AND  BEASTS.     183 

cages,  for  the  snakes  to  wind  up  and  down.  "  Where 
is  he,  I  wonder  ?  I  hope  he  hasn't  got  out,"  I  said  to 
myself,  thinking  of  a  story  I  read  once  of  a  person 
in  a  menagerie,  who  turned  suddenly  and  saw  a 
great  boa  gliding  toward  him.  As  I  stood  wonder- 
ing if  the  big  worm  could  be  under  the  little  flat 
blanket  before  me,  the  branch  began  to  move  all  at 
once,  and  with  a  start,  I  saw  a  limb  swing  down 
to  stare  at  me  with  the  boa's  glittering  eyes.  He 
was  so  exactly  the  color  of  the  bare  bough,  and  lay 
so  still,  I  had  not  seen  him  till  he  came  to  take  a 
look  at  me.  A  very  villainous  looking  reptile  he 
was,  and  I  felt  grateful  that  I  didn't  live  in  a  country 
where  such  unpleasant  neighbors  might  pop  in  upon 
you  unexpectedly.  He  was  kind  enough  to  take  a 
promenade  and  show  me  his  size,  which  seemed 
immense,  as  he  stretched  himself,  and  then  knotted 
his  rough,  grayish  body  into  a  great  loop,  with  the 
fiery-eyed  head  in  the  middle.  He  was  not  one  of 
the  largest  kind,  but  I  was  quite  satisfied,  and 
left  him  to  his  dinner  of  rabbits,  which  I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  stay  and  see  him  devour  alive. 


184  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

I  was  walking  toward  the  camel's  pagoda,  when, 
all  of  a  sudden  a  long,  dark,  curling  thing  came  over 
my  shoulder,  and  I  felt  warm  breath  in  my  face. 
"It's  the  boa!"  I  thought,  and  gave  a  skip  which 
carried  me  into  the  hedge,  where  I  stuck,  much  to 
the  amusement  of  some  children  riding  on  the  ele- 
phant whose  trunk  had  frightened  me.  He  had 
politely  tried  to  tell  me  to  clear  the  way,  which  I 
certainly  had  done  with  all  speed.  Picking  myself 
out  of  the  hedge,  I  walked  beside  him,  examining 
his  clumsy  feet,  and  peering  up  at  his  small,  intel- 
ligent eye.  I'm  very  sure  he  winked  at  me,  as  if 
enjoying  the  joke,  and  kept  poking  his  trunk  into 
my  pocket,  hoping  to  find  something  eatable. 

I  felt  as  if  I  had  got  into  a  foreign  country  as 
I  looked  about  me  and  saw  elephants  and  camels 
walking  among  the  trees ;  flocks  of  snow-white 
cranes  stalking  over  the  grass,  on  their  long  scarlet 
legs ;  striped  zebras  racing  in  their  paddock ;  queer 
kangaroos  hopping  about,  with  little  ones  in  their 
pouches;  pretty  antelopes  chasing  one  another; 
and,  in  an  immense  wire-covered  aviary,  all  sorts 


MAY-DAY  AMONG  BIRDS  AND  BEASTS.     185 

of  brilliant  birds  were  flying  about,  as  gaily  as  if  at 
home. 

One  of  the  curiosities  was  a  sea-cow,  who  lived  in 
a  tank  of  salt  water,  and  came  at  the  keeper's  call 
to  kiss  him,  and  flounder  on  its  flippers  along  the 
margin  of  the  tank  after  a  fish.  It  was  very  like 
a  seal,  only  much  larger,  and  had  four  fins  instead 
of  two.  Its  eyes  were  lovely,  so  dark  and  soft  and 
liquid ;  but  its  mouth  was  not  pretty,  and  I  declined 
one  of  the  damp  kisses  which  it  was  ready  to  dis- 
pense at  word  of  command. 

The  great  polar  bear  lived  next  door,  and  spent 
his  time  splashing  in  and  out  of  a  pool  of  water,  or 
sitting  on  a  block  of  ice,  panting,  as  if  the  mild 
spring  day  was  blazing  midsummer.  He  looked 
very  unhappy,  and  I  thought  it  a  pity  that  they 
didn't  invent  a  big  refrigerator  for  him. 

These  are  not  half  of  the  wonderful  creatures  I 
saw,  but  I  have  not  room  to  tell  more;  only  I 
advise  all  who  can  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Zoological 
Gardens  when  they  go  to  London,  for  it  is  one  of 
the  most  interesting  sights  in  that  fine  old  city. 


186  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY. 

T  TURRYING  to  catch  a  certain  car  at  a  certain 
corner  late  one  stormy  night,  I  was  suddenly- 
arrested  by  the  sight  of  a  queer-looking  bundle 
lying  in  a  door-way. 

"  Bless  my  heart,  it's  a  child !  O  John !  I'm  afraid 
he's  frozen ! "  I  exclaimed  to  my  brother,  as  we  both 
bent  over  the  bundle. 

Such  a  little  fellow  as  he  was,  in  the  big,  ragged 
coat,  such  a  tired,  baby  face,  under  the  fuzzy  cap, 
such  a  purple,  little  hand,  still  holding  fast  a  few 
papers;  such  a  pathetic  sight  altogether,  was  the 
boy,  lying  on  the  stone  step,  with  the  snow  drifting 
over  him,  that  it  was  impossible  to  go  by. 

"He  is  asleep;  but  he'll  freeze,  if  left  so  long. 
Here !  wake  up,  my  boy,  and  go  home,  as  fast  as  you 
can,"  cried  John,  with  a  gentle  shake,  and  a  very 
gentle  voice ;  for  the  memory  of  a  dear  little  lad, 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY.  187 

safely  tacked  up  at  home,  made  him  fatherly  kind 
to  the  small  vagabond. 

The  moment  he  was  touched,  the  boy  tumbled 
up,  and,  before  he  was  half  awake,  began  his  usual 
cry,  with  an  eye  to  business. 

"Paper,  sir?  'Herald!'  'Transkip!'  Last"— 
a  great  gape  swallowed  up  the  "  last  edition,"  and  he 
stood  blinking  at  us  like  a  very  chilly  young  owl. 

"I'll  buy  'em  all  if  you'll  go  home,  my  little 
chap;  it's  high  time  you  were  abed,"  said  John, 
whisking  the  damp  papers  into  one  pocket,  and  his 
purse  out  of  another,  as  he  spoke. 

"All  of  'em?  —  why,  there's  six!"  croaked  the 
boy,  for  he  was  as  hoarse  as  a  raven. 

"  Never  mind,  I  can  kindle  the  fire  with  'em.  Put 
that  in  your  pocket ;  and  trot  home,  my  man,  as  fast 
as  possible." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  I  asked,  picking  up  the 
fifty  cents  that  fell  from  the  little  fingers,  too  be- 
numbed to  hold  it. 

"Mills  Court,  out  of  Hanover.  Cold,  ain't  it?" 
said  the  boy,  blowing  on  his  purple  hands,  and  hop- 


188  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

ping  feebly  from  one  leg  to  the  other,  to  take  the 
stiffness  out. 

"  He  can't  go  all  that  way  in  this  storm,  —  such  a 
mite,  and  so  used  up  with  cold  and  sleep,  John." 

"Of  course  he  can't;  we'll  put  him  in  a  car," 
began  John ;  when  the  boy  wheezed  out,  — 

"  ~No ;  I've  got  ter  wait  for  Sam.  He'll  be  along 
as  soon's  the  theatre's  done.  He  said  he  would; 
and  so  I'm  waitin'." 

"  Who  is  Sam  ?"  I  asked. 

"He's  the  feller  I  lives  with.  I  ain't  got  any 
folks,  and  he  takes  care  o'  me." 

"  Nice  care,  indeed ;  leaving  a  baby  like  you  to 
wait  for  him  here  such  a  night  as  this,"  I  said 
crossly. 

"  Oh,  he's  good  to  me  Sam  is,  though  he  does 
knock  me  round  sometimes,  when  I  ain't  spry.  The 
big  fellers  shoves  me  back,  you  see ;  and  I  gets  cold, 
and  can't  sing  out  loud ;  so  I  don't  sell  my  papers, 
and  has  to  work  'em  off  late." 

"  Hear  the  child  talk !  One  would  think  he  was 
sixteen,  instead  of  six,"  I  said,  half  laughing. 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY.  189 

"Fm  'most  ten.  Hi!  ain't  that  a  oner?"  cried 
the  boy,  as  a  gust  of  sleet  slapped  him  in  the  face, 
when  he  peeped  to  see  if  Sam  was  coming.  "  Hullo ! 
the  lights  is  out!  Why,  the  play's  done,  and  the 
folks  gone,  and  Sam's  forgot  me." 

It  was  very  evident  that  Sam  had  forgotten  his 
little  protege  /  and  a  strong  desire  to  shake  Sam 
possessed  me. 

"  ~No  use  waitin'  any  longer ;  and  now  my  papers 
is  sold,  I  ain't  afraid  to  go  home,"  said  the  boy, 
stepping  down  like  a  little  old  man  with  the  rheu- 
matism, and  preparing  to  trudge  away  through  the 
storm. 

"  Stop  a  bit,  my  little  Casabianca ;  a  car  will  be 
along  in  fifteen  minutes ;  and  while  waiting  you  can 
warm  yourself  over  there,"  said  John,  with  the 
purple  hand  in  his. 

"  My  name's  Jack  Hill,  not  Cassy  Banks,  please, 
sir,"  said  the  little  party,  with  dignity. 

"  Have  you  had  your  supper,  Mr.  Hill  ? "  asked 
John  laughing. 

"I  had  some  peanuts,  and  two  sucks  of  Joe's 
orange ;  but  it  warn't  very  fillin',"  he  said,  gravely. 


190  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"I  should  think  not.  Her6  !  one  stew;  and  be 
quick,  please,"  cried  John,  as  we  sat  down  in  a  warm 
corner  of  the  confectioner's  opposite. 

While  little  Jack  shovelled  in  the  hot  oysters, 
with  his  eyes  shutting  up  now  and  then,  in  spite  of 
himself,  we  looked  at  him,  and  thought  again  of 
little  Rosy-face  at  home,  safe  in  his  warm  nest,  with 
mother-love  watching  over  him.  Nodding  toward 
the  ragged,  grimy,  forlorn,  little  creature,  drop- 
ping asleep  over  his  supper  like  a  tired  baby,  I 
said,  — 

"  Can  you  imagine  our  Freddy  out  alone  at  this 
hour,  trying  to  '  work  off'  his  papers,  because  afraid 
to  go  home  till  he  has  ?  " 

"I'd  rather  not  try,"  answered  brother  John, 
winking  hard,  as  he  stroked  the  little  head  beside 
him,  which,  by  the  by,  looked  very  like  a  ragged, 
yellow  door  mat.  I  think  brother  John  winked  hard, 
but  I  can't  be  sure,  for  I  know  I  did;  and  for  a 
minute  there  seemed  to  be  a  dozen  little  newsboys 
dancing  before  my  eyes. 

"  There  goes  our  car ;  and  it's  the  last,"  said  John, 
looking  at  me. 


OUR  LITTLE  NEWSBOY.  191 

"  Let  it  go,  but  don't  leave  the  boy ; "  and  I 
frowned  at  John  for  hinting  such  a  thing. 

"Here  is  his  car.  Now,  my  lad,  bolt  your  last 
oyster,  and  come  on." 

"  Good-night,  ma'am !  thankee,  sir  I "  croaked  the 
grateful  little  voi«e,  as  the  child  was  caught  up  in 
John's  strong  hands  and  set  down  on  the  car-step. 

With  a  word  to  the  conductor,  and  a  small  busi- 
ness transaction,  we  left  Jack  coiled  up  in  a  corner, 
to  finish  his  nap  as  tranquilly  as  if  it  wasn't  mid- 
night, and  a  "knocking  round"  might  not  await 
him  at  his  journey's  end. 

We  didn't  mind  the  storm  much,  as  we  plodded 
home ;  and  when  I  told  the  story  to  Rosy-face,  next 
day,  his  interest  quite  reconciled  me  to  the  sniffs 
and  sneezes  of  a  bad  cold. 

"If  I  saw  that  poor  little  boy,  Aunt  Jo,  Td 
love  him  lots ! "  said  Freddy,  with  a  world  of  pity 
in  his  beautiful  child's  eyes. 

And,  believing  that  others  also  would  be  kind  to 
little  Jack,  and  such  as  he,  I  tell  the  story. 

When  busy  fathers  hurry  home  at  night,  I  hope 


192 


AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 


they'll  buy  their  papers  of  the  small  boys,  who  get 
"  shoved  back ; "  the  feeble  ones,  who  grow  hoarse, 
and  can't  "  sing  out ; "  the  shabby  ones,  who,  evi- 
dently, have  only  forgetful  Sams  to  care  for  them ; 
and  the  hungry-looking  ones,  who  don't  get  what  is 
"  fillin'."  For  love  of  the  little  sons  and  daughters 
safe  at  home,  say  a  kind  word,  buy  a  paper,  even  if 
you  don't  want  it ;  and  never  pass  by,  leaving  them 
to  sleep  forgotten  in  the  streets  at  midnight,  with 
no  pillow  but  a  stone,  no  coverlet  but  the  pitiless 
snow,  and  not  even  a  tender-hearted  robin  to  drop 
leaves  over  them. 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  193 

PATTY'S  PATCHWORK. 

«  T  PERFECTLY  hate  it!  and  something  dreadful 
ought  to  be  done  to  the  woman  who  invented 
it,"  said  Patty,  in  a  pet,  sending  a  shower  of  gay- 
pieces  flying  over  the  carpet  as  if  a  small  whirlwind 
and  a  rainbow  had  got  into  a  quarrel. 

Puss  did  not  agree  with  Patty,  for,  after  a  sur- 
prised hop  when  the  flurry  came,  she  calmly  laid 
herself  down  on  a  red  square,  purring  comfortably 
and  winking  her  yellow  eyes,  as  if  she  thanked  the 
little  girl  for  the  bright  bed  that  set  off  her  white  fur 
so  prettily.  This  cool  performance  made  Patty 
laugh  and  say  more  pleasantly,  — 

"  Well,  it  is  tiresome,  isn't  it,  Aunt  Pen  ?  " 

"  Sometimes ;  but  we  all  have  to  make  patchwork, 
my  dear,  and  do  the  best  we  can  with  the  pieces 
given  us." 

"Do  we?"  and  Patty  opened  her  eyes  in  great 
astonishment  at  this  new  idea. 
13 


194  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

"  Our  lives  are  patchwork,  and  it  depends  on  us  a 
good  deal  how  the  bright  and  dark  bits  get  put  to- 
gether so  that  the  whole  is  neat,  pretty,  and  useful 
when  it  is  done,"  said  Aunt  Pen  soberly. 

"  Deary  me,  now  she  is  going  to  preach,"  thought 
Patty ;  but  she  rather  liked  Aunt  Pen's  preachments, 
for  a  good  deal  of  fun  got  mixed  up  with  the  moral- 
izing ;  and  she  was  so  good  herself  that  children  could 
never  say  in  their  naughty  little  minds,  "  You  are 
just  as  bad  as  we,  so  you  needn't  talk  to  us,  ma'am." 

"I  gave  you  that  patchwork  to  see  what  you 
would  make  of  it,  and  it  is  as  good  as  a  diary  to  me, 
for  I  can  tell  by  the  different  squares  how  you  felt 
when  you  made  them,"  continued  Aunt  Pen,  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye  as  she  glanced  at  the  many-col- 
ored bits  on  the  carpet. 

"Can  you  truly?  just  try  and  see,"  and  Patty 
looked  interested  at  once. 

Pointing  with  the  yard-measure,  Aunt  Pen  said, 
tapping  a  certain  dingy,  puckered,  brown  and  purple 
square,  — 

"  That  is  a  bad  day ;  don't  it  look  so  ?  " 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  195 

"  Well,  it  was,  I  do  declare !  for  that  was  the  Mon- 
day piece,  when  every  thing  went  wrong  and  I  didn't 
care  how  my  work  looked,"  cried  Patty,  surprised  at 
Aunt  Pen's  skill  in  reading  the  calico  diary. 

"  This  pretty  pink  and  white  one  so  neatly  sewed 
is  a  good  day ;  this  funny  mixture  of  red,  blue,  and 
yellow  with  the  big  stitches  is  a  merry  day ;  that  one 
with  spots  on  it  is  one  that  got  cried  over ;  this  with 
the  gay  flowers  is  a  day  full  of  good  little  plans  and 
resolutions ;  and  that  one  made  of  dainty  bits,  all 
stars  and  dots  and  tiny  leaves,  is  the  one  you  made 
when  you  were  thinking  about  the  dear  new  baby 
there  at  home." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Pen,  you  are  a  fairy !  How  did  you 
know?  they  truly  are  just  as  you  say,  as  near  as  I 
can  remember.  I  rather  like  that  sort  of  patchwork," 
and  Patty  sat  down  upon  the  floor  to  collect,  exam- 
ine, and  arrange  her  discarded  work  with  a  new  in- 
terest in  it. 

"  I  see  what  is  going  on,  and  I  have  queer  plays  in 
my  mind  just  as  you  little  folks  do.  Suppose  you 
make  this  a  moral  bed-quilt  as  some  people  make 


196  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

album  quilts.  See  how  much  patience,  persever- 
ance, good  nature,  and  industry  you  can  put  into  it. 
Every  bit  will  have  a  lesson  or  a  story,  and  when 
you  lie  under  it  you  will  find  it  a  real  comforter," 
said  Aunt  Pen,  who  wanted  to  amuse  the  child  and 
teach  her  something  better  even  than  the  good  old- 
fashioned  accomplishment  of  needlework. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  put  that  sort  of  thing  into 
it,"  answered  Patty,  as  she  gently  lifted  puss  into 
her  lap,  instead  of  twitching  the  red  bit  roughly  from 
under  her. 

"  There  goes  a  nice  little  piece  of  kindness  this 
very  minute,"  laughed  Aunt  Pen,  pointing  to  the 
cat  and  the  red  square. 

Patty  laughed  also,  and  looked  pleased  as  she 
stroked  Mother  Bunch,  while  she  said  thought- 
fully,- 

"I  see  what  you  mean  now.  I  am  making  two 
kinds  of  patchwork  at  the  same  time ;  and  this  that 
I  see  is  to  remind  me  of  the  other  kind  that  I  don't 
see." 

"  Every  task,  no  matter  how  small  or  homely,  that . 


PATTY'S   PATCHWORK.  197 

gets  well  and  cheerfully  done,  is  a  fine  thing ;  and 
the  sooner  we  learn  to  use  up  the  dark  and  bright 
bits  (the  pleasures  and  pains,  the  cares  and  duties) 
into  a  cheerful,  useful  life,  the  sooner  we  become 
real  comforters,  and  every  one  likes  to  cuddle  about 
us.     Don't  you  see,  deary  ?  " 

"  That's  what  you  are,  Aunt  Pen ; "  and  Patty  put 
up  her  hand  to  hold  fast  by  that  other  strong,  kind, 
helpful  hand  that  did  so  much,  yet  never  was  tired, 
cold,  or  empty. 

Aunt  Pen  took  the  chubby  little  one  in  both  her 
own,  and  said,  smiling,  yet  with  meaning  in  her  eyes, 
as  she  tapped  the  small  forefinger,  rough  with  impa- 
tient and  unskilful  sewing,  — 

"  Shall  we  try  and  see  what  a  nice  little  comforter 
we  can  make  this  month,  while  you  wait  to  be  called 
home  to  see  mamma  and  the  dear  new  baby  ?  " 

"Yes,  I'd  like  to  try;"  and  Patty  gave  Aunt 
Pen's  hand  a  hearty  shake,  for  she  wanted  to  be 
good,  and  rather  thought  the  new  fancy  would  lend 
a  charm  to  the  task  which  we  all  find  rather  tire- 
some and  hard. 


198  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

So  the  bargain  was  made,  and  the  patch  Patty 
sewed  that  day  was  beautiful  to  behold ;  for  she  was 
in  a  delightfully  moral  state  of  mind,  and  felt  quite 
sure  that  she  was  going  to  become  a'  model  for  all 
children  to  follow,  if  they  could.  The  next  day  her 
ardor  had  cooled  a  little,  and  being  in  a  hurry  to  go 
out  to  play,  she  slighted  her  work,  thinking  no  one 
would  know.  But  the  third  day  she  got  so  angry 
with  her  patch  that  she  tore  it  in  two,  and  declared 
it  was  all  nonsense  to  fuss  about  being  good  and 
thorough  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 

Aunt  Pen  did  not  say  much,  but  made  her  mend 
and  finish  her  patch  and  add  it  to  the  pile.  After 
she  went  to  bed  that  night  Patty  thought  of  it,  and 
wished  she  could  do  it  over,  it  looked  so  badly.  But 
as  it  could  not  be,  she  had  a  penitent  fit,  and  resolved 
to  keep  her  temper  while  she  sewed,  at  any  rate,  for 
mamma  was  to  see  the  little  quilt  when  it  was  done, 
and  would  want  to  know  all  about  it. 

Of  course  she  did  not  devote  herself  to  being  good 
all  the  time,  but  spent  her  days  in  lessons,  play,  mis- 
chief, and  fun,  like  any  other  lively,  ten-year-older. 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  199 

But  somehow,  whenever  the  sewing-hour  came,  she 
remembered  that  talk ;  and  as  she  worked  she  fell 
into  the  way  of  wondering  whether  Aunt  Pen  could 
guess  from  the  patches  what  sort  of  days  she  had 
passed.  She  wanted  to  try  and  see,  but  Aunt  Pen 
refused  to  read  any  more  calico  till  the  quilt  was 
done :  then,  she  said  in  a  queer,  solemn  way,  she 
should  make  the  good  and  bad  days  appear  in  a 
remarkable  manner. 

This  puzzled  Patty  very  much,  and  she  quite 
ached  to  know  what  the  joke  would  be ;  meantime 
the  pile  grew  steadily,  and  every  day,  good  or  bad, 
added  to  that  other  work  called  Patty's  life.  She 
did  not  think  much  about  that  part  of  it,  but  uncon- 
sciously the  quiet  sewing-time  had  its  influence  on 
her,  and  that  little  "  conscience  hour,"  as  she  some- 
times called  it,  helped  her  very  much. 

One  day  she  said  to  herself  as  she  took  up  her 
work,  "  Now  I'll  puzzle  Aunt  Pen.  She  thinks  my 
naughty  tricks  get  into  the  patches ;  but  I'll  make 
this  very  nicely  and  have  it  gay,  and  then  I  don't 
see  how  she  will  ever  guess  what  I  did  this  morn- 
ing." 


200  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Now  you  must  know  that  Tweedle-dee  the  can- 
ary, was  let  out  every  day  to  fly  about  the  room 
and  enjoy  himself.  Mother  Bunch  never  ti'ied  to 
catch  him,  though  he  often  hopped  temptin^r  near 
her.  He  was  a  droll  little  bird,  and  Patty  liked  to 
watch  his  promenades,  for  he  did  funny  things. 
That  day  he  had  made  her  laugh  by  trying  to  fly 
away  with  a  shawl,  picking  up  the  fringe  with 
which  to  line  the  nest  he  was  always  trying  to  build. 
It  was  so  heavy  he  tumbled  on  his  back  and  lay 
kicking  and  pulling,  but  had  to  give  it  up  and  con- 
tent himself  with  a  bit  of  thread. 

Patty  was  forbidden  to  chase  or  touch  him  at 
these  times,  but  always  felt  a  strong  desire  to  have 
just  one  grab  at  him  and  see  how  he  felt.  That  day, 
being  alone  in  the  dining-room,  she  found  it  impos- 
sible to  resist;  and  when  Tweedle-dee  came  trip- 
ping pertly  over  the  table-cloth,  cocking  his  head 
on  one  side  with  shrill  chirps  and  little  prancings, 
she  caught  him,  and  for  a  minute  held  him  fast  in 
spite  of  his  wrathful  pecking. 

She  put  her  thimble  on  his  head,  laughing  to  see 


PATTY'S   PATCHWORK.  201 

how  funny  he  looked,  and  just  then  he  slipped  out 
of  her  hand.  She  clutched  at  him,  missed  him,  but 
alas,  alas !  he  left  his  little  tail  behind  him.  Every 
feather  in  his  blessed  little  tail,  I  do  assure  you ; 
and  there  sat  Patty  with  the  yellow  plumes  in  her 
hand  and  dismay  in  her  face.  Poor  Tweedle-clee 
retired  to  his  cage  much  afflicted,  and  sung  no  more 
that  day,  but  Patty  hid  the  lost  tail  and  never  said 
a  word  about  it. 

"  Aunt  Pen  is  so  near-sighted  she  won't  mind,  and 
maybe  he  will  have  another  tail  pretty  soon,  or  she 
will  think  he  is  moulting.  If  she  asks  of  course  I 
shall  tell  her." 

Patty  settled  it  in  that  way,  forgetting  that  the 
slide  was  open  and  Aunt  Pen  in  the  kitchen.  So 
she  made  a  neat  blue  and  buff  patch,  and  put  it 
away,  meaning  to  puzzle  aunty  when  the  reading- 
time  came.  But  Patty  got  the  worst  of  it,  as  you 
will  see  by  and  by. 

Another  day  she  strolled  into  the  store-room  and 
saw  a  large  tray  of  fresh  buns  standing  there.  Now, 
it  was  against  the  rule  to  eat  between  meals,  and 


202  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

new  hot  bread  or  cake  was  especially  forbidden. 
Patty  remembered  both  these  things,  but  could  not 
resist  temptation.  One  plump,  brown  bun,  with  a 
lovely  plum  right  in  the  middle,  was  so  fascinating 
it  was  impossible  to  let  it  alone  ;  so  Patty  whipped 
it  into  her  pocket,  ran  to  the  garden,  and  hiding 
behind  the  big  lilac-bush,  ate  it  in  a  great  hurry. 
It  was  just  out  of  the  oven,  and  so  hot  it  burned 
her  throat,  and  lay  like  a  live  coal  in  her  little 
stomach  after  it  was  down,  making  her  very  uncom- 
fortable for  several  hours. 

"  Why  do  you  keep  sighing  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Pen,  as 
Patty  sat  down  to  her  work. 

"  I  don't  feel  very  well." 

"  You  have  eaten  something  that  disagrees  with 
you.     Did  you  eat  hot  biscuits  for  breakfast  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  never  do,"  and  Patty  gave  another 
little  gasp,  for  the  bun  lay  very  heavily  on  both 
stomach  and  conscience  just  then. 

"  A  drop  or  two  of  ammonia  will  set  you  right," 
and  Aunt  Pen  gave  her  some.  It  did  set  the  stomach 
right,  but  the  conscience  still  worried  her,  for  she 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  203 

could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  "  fess"  the  sly,  greedy 
thing  she  had  done. 

"  Put  a  white  patch  in  the  middle  of  those  green 
ones,"  said  Aunt  Pen,  as  Patty  sat  soberly  sewing 
her  daily  square. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  little  girl,  for  aunty  seldom 
interfered  in  her  arrangement  of  the  quilt. 

"It  will  look  pretty,  and  match  the  other  three 
squares  that  are  going  at  the  corners  of  that  middle 
piece." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  and  Patty  sewed  away,  wondering 
at  this  sudden  interest  in  her  work,  and  why  Aunt 
Pen  laughed  to  herself  as  she  put  away  the  ammonia 
bottle. 

These  are  two  of  the  naughty  little  things  that 
got  worked  into  the  quilt ;  but  there  were  good  ones 
also,  and  Aunt  Pen's  sharp  eyes  saw  them  all. 

At  the  window  of  a  house  opposite  Patty  often 
saw  a  little  girl  who  sat  there  playing  with  an  old 
doll  or  a  torn  book.  She  never  seemed  to  run  about 
or  go  out,  and  Patty  often  wondered  if  she  was  sick, 
she  looked  so  thin  and  sober,  and  was  so  quiet. 


204  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Patty  began  by  making  faces  at  her  for  fun,  but  the 
little  girl  only  smiled  back,  and  nodded  so  good- 
naturedly  that  Patty  was  ashamed  of  herself. 

"  Is  that  girl  over  there  poor  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly 
as  she  watched  her  one  day. 

"  Very  poor :  her  mother  takes  in  sewing,  and  the 
child  is  lame,"  answered  Aunt  Pen,  without  looking 
up  from  the  letter  she  was  writing. 

"  Her  doll  is  nothing  but  an  old  shawl  tied  round 
with  a  string,  and  she  don't  seem  to  have  but  one 
book.  Wonder  if  she'd  like  to  have  me  come 
and  play  with  her,"  said  Patty  to  herself,  as  she 
stood  her  own  big  doll  in  the  window,  and  nodded 
back  at  the  girl  who  bobbed  up  and  down  in  her 
chair  with  delight  at  this  agreeable  prospect. 

"  You  can  go  and  see  her  some  day  if  you  like," 
said  Aunt  Pen,  scribbling  away. 

Patty  said  no  more  then,  but  later  in  the  afternoon 
she  remembered  this  permission,  and  resolved  to  try 
if  aunty  would  find  out  her  good  doings  as  well  as 
her  bad  ones.  So,  tucking  Blanche  Augusta  Arabella 
Maud  under  one  arm,  her  best  picture-book  under 


PATTY'S   PATCHWORK.  205 

the  other,  and  gathering  a  little  nosegay  of  her  own 
flowers,  she  slipped  across  the  road,  knocked,  and 
marched  boldly  upstairs. 

Mrs.  Brown,  the  sewing-woman,  was  out,  and  no 
one  there  but  Lizzie  in  her  chair  at  the  window, 
looking  lonely  and  forlorn. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  My  name  is  Patty,  and  I  live 
over  there,  and  I've  come  to  play  with  you,"  said 
one  child  in  a  friendly  tone. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  My  name  is  Lizzie,  and  I'm 
very  glad  to  see  you.  What  a  lovely  doll ! "  returned 
the  other  child  gratefully;  and  then  the  ceremony 
of  introduction  was  over,  and  they  began  to  play  as 
if  they  had  known  each  other  for  ever  so  long. 

To  poor  Lizzie  it  seemed  as  if  a  little  fairy  had 
suddenly  appeared  to  brighten  the  dismal  room  with 
flowers  and  smiles  and  pretty  things ;  while  Patty 
felt  her  pity  and  good-will  increase  as  she  saw  Liz- 
zie's crippled  feet,  and  watched  her  thin  face  brighten 
and  glow  with  interest  and  delight  over  book  and 
doll  and  posy.  "  It  felt  good,"  as  Patty  said  after- 
Ward  ;  "  sort  of  warm  and  comfortable  in  my  heart, 


206  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

and  I  liked  it  ever  so  much."  She  stayed  an  hour, 
making  sunshine  in  a  shady  place,  and  then  ran 
home,  wondering  if  Aunt  Pen  would  find  that  out. 

She  found  her  sitting  with  her  hands  before  her, 
and  such  a  sad  look  in  her  face  that  Patty  ran  to  her, 
saying  anxiously,  — 

"  What's  the  matter,  aunty  ?    Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"No,  dear;  but  I  have  sorrowful  news  for  you. 
Come  sit  in  my  lap  and  let  me  tell  you  as  gently  as 
I  can." 

"  Mamma  is  dead ! "  cried  Patty,  with  a  look  of 
terror  in  her  rosy  face. 

"  No,  thank  God !  but  the  dear,  new  baby  only 
stayed  a  week,  and  we  shall  never  see  her  in  this 
world." 

With  a  cry  of  sorrow  Patty  threw  herself  into  the 
arms  outstretched  to  her,  and  on  Aunt  Pen's  loving 
bosom  sobbed  away  the  first  bitterness  of  her  grief 
and  disappointment. 

"  Oh,  I  wanted  a  little  sister  so  much,  and  I  was 
going  to  be  so  fond  of  her,  and  was  so  glad  she 
came,  and  now  I  can't  see  or  have  her  even  for  a 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  207 

day !  I'm  so  disappointed  I  don't  think  I  can  bear 
it,"  sobbed  Patty. 

"  Think  of  poor  mamma,  and  bear  it  bravely  for 
her  sake,"  whispered  Aunt  Pen,  wiping  away  her 
own  and  Patty's  tears. 

"Oh,  dear  me!  there's  the  pretty  quilt  I  was 
going  to  make  for  baby,  and  now  it  isn't  any  use, 
and  I  can't  bear  to  finish  it ; "  and  Patty  broke  out 
afresh  at  the  thought  of  so  much  love's  labor  lost. 

"  Mamma  will  love  to  see  it,  so  I  wouldn't  give  it 
up.  Work  is  the  best  cure  for  sorrow ;  and  I  think 
you  never  will  be  sorry  you  tried  it.  Let  us  put  a 
bright  bit  of  submission  with  this  dark  trouble,  and 
work  both  into  your  little  life  as  patiently  as  we  can, 
deary." 

Patty  put  up  her  trembling  lips,  and  kissed  Aunt 
Pen,  grateful  for  the  tender  sympathy  and  the  help- 
ful words.  "I'll  try,"  was  all  she  said;  and  then 
they  sat  talking  quietly  together  about  the  dear, 
dead  baby,  who  only  stayed  long  enough  to  make  a 
place  in  every  one's  heart,  and  leave  them  aching 
when  she  went. 


208  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Patty  did  try  to  bear  her  first  trouble  bravely, 
and  got  on  very  well  after  the  first  day  or  two, 
except  when  the  sewing-hour  came.  Then  the  sight 
of  the  pretty  patchwork  recalled  the  memory  of  the 
cradle  it  was  meant  to  cover,  and  reminded  her  that 
it  was  empty  now.  Many  quiet  tears  dropped  on 
Patty's  work ;  and  sometimes  she  had  to  put  it  down 
and  sob,  for  she  had  longed  so  for  a  little  sister  it 
was  very  hard  to  give  her  up,  and  put  away  all  the 
loving  plans  she  had  made  for  the  happy  time  when 
baby  came.  A  great  many  tender  little  thoughts  and 
feelings  got  sewed  into  the  gay  squares ;  and  if  a  small 
stain  showed  here  and  there,  I  think  they  only  added 
to  its  beauty  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  knew  what 
made  them.  Aunt  Pen  never  suggested  picking  out 
certain  puckered  bits  and  grimy  stitches,  for  she 
knew  that  just  there  the  little  fingers  trembled,  and 
the  blue  eyes  got  dim  as  they  touched  and  saw  the 
delicate,  flowery  bits  left  from  baby's  gowns. 

Lizzie  was  full  of  sympathy,  and  came  hopping 
over  on  her  crutches  with  her  only  treasure,  a  black 
rabbit,  to  console  her  friend.    But  of  all  the  comfort 


PATTY'S   PATCHWORK.  209 

given,  Mother  Bunch's  share  was  the  greatest  and 
best ;  for  that  very  first  sad  day,  as  Patty  wandered 
about  the  house  disconsolately,  puss  came  hurrying  to 
meet  her,  and  in  her  dumb  way  begged  her  mistress 
to  follow  and  see  the  fine  surprise  prepared  for  her. 
Four  plump  kits  as  white  as  snow,  with  four  gray 
tails  all  wagging  in  a  row,  as  they  laid  on  their 
proud  mamma's  downy  breast,  while  she  purred  over 
them  with  her  yellow  eyes  full  of  supreme  content. 

It  was  in  the  barn,  and  Patty  lay  for  an  hour  with 
her  head  close  to  Mother  Bunch,  and  her  hands 
softly  touching  the  charming  little  Bunches,  who 
squeaked  and  tumbled  and  sprawled  about  with 
their  dim  eyes  blinking,  their  tiny  pink  paws  fumb- 
ling, and  their  dear  gray  tails  waggling  in  the  sweet- 
est way.  Such  a  comfort  as  they  were  to  Patty  no 
words  could  tell,  and  nothing  will  ever  convince  me 
that  Mrs.  Bunch  did  not  know  all  about  baby,  and 
so  lay  herself  out  to  cheer  up  her  little  mistress  like 
a  motherly,  loving  old  puss,  as  she  was. 

As  Patty  lay  on  the  rug  that  evening  while  Aunt 
Pen  sung  softly  in  the  twilight,  a  small,  white  figure 
14 


210  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

came  pattering  over  the  straw  carpet,  and  dropped 
a  soft,  warm  ball  down  by  Patty's  cheek,  saying,  as 
plainly  as  a  loud,  confiding  purr  could  say  it,  — 

"  There,  my  dear,  this  is  a  lonely  time  for  you,  I 
know,  so  I've  brought  my  best  and  prettiest  darling 
to  comfort  you ; "  and  with  that  Mother  Bunch  sat 
down  and  washed  her  face,  while  Patty  cuddled  lit- 
tle Snowdrop,  and  forgot  to  cry  about  baby. 

Soon  after  this  came  a  great  happiness  to  Patty 
in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  mamma,  saying  she 
must  have  her  little  girl  back  a  week  earlier  than 
they  had  planned. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  leave  you,  aunty,  but  it  is  so  nice 
to  be  wanted,  and  I'm  all  mamma  has  now,  you 
know,  so  I  must  hurry  and  finish  my  work  to  sur- 
prise her  with.  How  shall  we  finish  it  off?  There 
ought  to  be  something  regularly  splendid  to  go  all 
round,"  said  Patty,  in  a  great  bustle,  as  she  laid  out 
her  pieces,  and  found  that  only  a  few  more  were 
needed  to  complete  the  "moral  bed-quilt." 

"I  must  try  and  find  something.  We  will  put 
this  white  star,  with  the  blue  round  it,  in  the  middle, 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  211 

for  it  is  the  neatesb  and  prettiest  piece,  in  spite  of 
the  stains.  I  will  sew  in  this  part,  and  you  may 
finish  putting  the  long  strips  together,"  said  Aunt 
Pen,  rummaging  her  bags  and  bundles  for  something 
fine  to  end  off  with. 

"I  know!  I've  got  something!"  and  away  hur- 
ried Lizzie,  who  was  there,  and  much  interested  in 
the  work. 

She  came  hopping  back  again,  presently,  with  a 
roll  in  her  hand,  which  she  proudly  spread  out, 
saying,  — 

"  There !  mother  gave  me  that  ever  so  long  ago, 
but  I  never  had  any  quilt  to  use  it  for,  and  now  it's 
just  what  you  want.  You  can't  buy  such  chintz 
now-a-days,  and  I'm  so  glad  I  had  it  for  you." 

"  It's  regularly  splendid ! "  cried  Patty,  in  a  rap- 
ture ;  and  so  it  was,  for  the  pink  and  white  was  all 
covered  with  animals,  and  the  blue  was  full  of  birds 
and  butterflies  and  bees  flying  about  as  naturally  as 
possible.  Really  lovely  were  the  little  figures  and 
the  clear,  soft  colors,  and  Aunt  Pen  clapped  her 
hands,  while  Patty  hugged  her  friend,  and  declared 
that  the  quilt  was  perfect  now. 


212  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

Mrs.  Brown  begged  to  be  allowed  to  quilt  it  when 
the  patches  were  all  nicely  put  together,  and  Patty 
was  glad  to  have  her,  for  that  part  of  the  work  was 
beyond  her  skill.  It  did  not  come  home  till  the 
morning  Patty  left,  and  Aunt  Pen  packed  it  up 
without  ever  unrolling  it. 

"  We  will  look  at  it  together  when  we  show  it  to 
mamma,"  she  said;  and  Patty  was  in  such  a  hurry 
to  be  off  that  she  made  no  objection. 

A  pleasant  journey,  a  great  deal  of  hugging  and 
kissing,  some  tears  and  tender  laments  for  baby, 
and  then  it  was  time  to  show  the  quilt,  which 
mamma  said  was  just  what  she  wanted  to  throw 
over  her  feet  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa. 

If  there  were  any  fairies,  Patty  would  have  been 
sure  they  had  done  something  to  her  bed-cover,  for 
when  she  proudly  unrolled  it,  what  do  you  think 
she  saw? 

Right  in  the  middle  of  the  white  star,  which  was 
the  centre-piece,  delicately  drawn  with  indelible 
ink,  was  a  smiling  little  cherub,  all  head  and  wings, 
and  under  it  these  lines, — 


PATTY'S  PATCHWORK.  213 

"  While  sister  dear  lies  asleep, 
Baby  careful  watch  will  keep." 

Then  in  each  of  the  four  gay  squares  that  were  at 
the  corners  of  the  strip  that  framed  the  star,  was  a 
white  bit  bearing  other  pictures  and  couplets  that 
both  pleased  and  abashed  Patty  as  she  saw  and  read 
them. 

In  one  was  seen  a  remarkably  fine  bun,  with  the 
lines,  — 

"  Who  stole  the  hot  bun 
And  got  burnt  well? 
Go  ask  the  lilac  bush, 
Guess  it  can  tell." 

In  the  next  was  a  plump,  tailless  bird,  who  seemed 
to  be  saying  mournfully,  — 

"My  little  tail,  my  little  tail! 
This  bitter  loss  I  still  bewail ; 
But  rather  ne'er  have  tail  again 
Than  Patty  should  deceive  Aunt  Pen." 

The  third  was  less  embarrassing,  for  it  was  a  pretty 
bunch  of  flowers  so  daintily  drawn  one  could  almost 


214  AUNT  JO'S  SCRAP-BAG. 

think  they  smelt  them,  and  these  lines  were  un- 
derneath :  — 

"Every  flower  to  others  given, 
Blossoms  fair  and  sweet  in  heaven." 

The  fourth  was  a  picture  of  a  curly-haired  child 
sewing,  with  some  very  large  tears  rolling  down  her 
cheeks  and  tumbling  off  her  lap  like  marbles,  while 
some  tiny  sprites  were  catching  and  flying  away 
with  them  as  if  they  were  very  precious :  — 

"  Every  tender  drop  that  fell, 

Loving  spirits  caught  and  kept ; 
And  Patty's  sorrow  lighter  grew 
For  the  gentle  tears  she  wept." 

"  Oh,  aunty !  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  cried  Patty, 
who  had  looked  both  pleased  and  ashamed  as  she 
glanced  from  one  picture  to  the  other. 

"  It  means,  dear,  that  the  goods  and  bads  got  into 
the  bed-quilt  in  spite  of  you,  and  there  they  are  to 
tell  their  own  story.  The  bun  and  the  lost  tail,  the 
posy  you  took  to  poor  Lizzie,  and  the  trouble  you 


PATTY'S   PATCHWORK.  215 

bore  so  sweetly.  It  is  just  so  with  our  lives,  though 
we  don't  see  it  quite  as  clearly  as  this.  Invisible  hands 
paint  our  faults  and  virtues,  and  by  and  by  we  have 
to  see  them,  so  we  must  be  careful  that  they  are 
good  and  lovely,  and  we  are  not  ashamed  to  let 
the  eyes  that  love  us  best  read  there  the  history  of 
our  lives." 

As  Aunt  Pen  spoke,  and  Patty  listened  with  a 
thoughtful  face,  mamma  softly  drew  the  pictured 
coverlet  over  her,  and  whispered,  as  she  held  her  lit- 
tle daughter  close,  — 

"  My  Patty  will  remember  this ;  and  if  all  her 
years  tell  as  good  a  story  as  this  month,  I  shall  not 
fear  to  read  the  record,  and  she  will  be  in  truth  my 
little  comforter." 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  and  Son. 


